Of course, when I heard I was to be the Prince, I expect to be beswathed in lots of purple velvet and maybe put some red sequins on my eyelids, in tribute to the strange fantasias of Powell and Pressburger. Instead I was in a civil war outfit with a hat that would look fine on someone else, but which, on my enormodome, actually looked like one of those eentsy orange sombrero-shaped caps on a bottle of tequila...
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