Word: misse
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...activities, we painted houses for economically disadvantaged elderly residents. At one of the houses, a local high school student named Boone helped out. He was incredibly quiet and never talked; he just seemed to paint and to stare. But after someone in our group blurted out that I was Miss Harvard, he suddenly became more interested in speaking with me. Chewing on a piece of grass and talking in a southern drawl, he encouraged me as I twirled a broom like it was a baton. Later, when his brother came to pick him up and asked what the best part...
...story as well. In the same segment where they criticize a Stanford protest against Condoleezza Rice’s selection as commencement speaker, the pageant rears its tiara-topped head. “I haven’t heard anyone mention the choice of a drag-queen as Miss Harvard,” the author writes. “Personally, I take the libertarian approach to these events, but suspect that some of you out there would be interested since the audience is conservative.” I’m not totally sure what he means, but it?...
...character flaws. A good friend at MIT sent me a series of e-mails requesting photos from the pageant and ended with the following message: “I am probably annoying the shit out of you by now, but I don’t care because you are Miss Harvard. You have to pretend to be nice even though you’re a total bitch.” And it’s true. I’ve always had difficulty being completely honest with people who rub me the wrong way or complicate my life...
...people up. Beauty queens are supposedly ultra-caring and beautiful, and I don’t mind hiding behind that facade, even if it isn’t totally accurate. Throughout the trip I met amazing people, all of whom seemed to respond to talk of the tiara. From Miss Tunnicliff, who admired the whiskers finally growing back on my legs, to the other volunteers, who broke the ice by taking scandalous pictures of Miss Harvard in the hot tub, the crown facilitates relationship building. Apparently drag queens leave an impression...
...didn’t know about my tiara, nor did he know about my sash. There were no cameras for me to smile into and the trash can with my breasts was literally a thousand miles away. Still, I carried with me the silly notion that I am Miss Harvard. I know that the title has gone to my head and that I’ve exaggerated its importance. I know there is no Miss Ivy League pageant to prepare for, no events for me to speak at and no official duties to perform. But the crown has reminded...