When I heard about Caligula Mondays at Venus pool inside Caesars Palace I thought, Oh, how funny. Caligula is the perfect name for an event designated for adult debauchery. Caligula was the Roman emperor infamous for his scandalous behavior, right? The one known for spending and sex. (Also for killing crowds of people on a whim, but whatever.) The Caligula Monday event, I hoped, would live up to its name.

Given the triple-digit temperatures, I squirted SPF 60 all over my milky white skin. (My mother would kill me if I didn’t at least cover my publicly bared breasts with sunscreen.) Once I got there, one fruity shot turned into multiple bottles of rose champagne. And that turned me into a topless bather, pink nipples peeking out of blue waters that weekday afternoon. I hung out by the pool with a group of hot, young, tan kids, eager to party, though none of the girls opted to remove their tops. Most of the women who did go topless were quiet sunbathers who stayed away from the clusters of party people. I was almost out of place—topless and interacting. A group across the pool began to stare. “We’re talking about your boobs!” one of the men informed me. I gave them a squeeze, to the spectators’ great approval.

Caligula? I’d call it more sophisticated debauchery than full-on bacchanal. But hey, no one can accuse me of not embracing the theme.