Like everyone else on the planet (and possibly, those that remain undiscovered out there) I watched the Royal Wedding today.
I won’t lie, I was devastated. Was there a little part of me that was happy for Megan? No. Absolutely not. That should have been me. In fact, that should have been me when William married Kate but I have chosen to forgive him because he went bald way too fast for my liking so Harry was meant to be it. My ticket out of my 9 to 5, my ticket out of a title-less life, out of singlehood and the possibility of birthing any more none-royal-blooded offspring. Yes, yes I love my daughter, but IS SHE A WINDSOR?
Am I deserving of a man like Harry? You may ask as you eye me plastered out, in oversized tracks, face down on the couch biting into chocolates I brought with me back from the UK … and to that I say, yes. Yes, because I clean up nice (kinda) and I am quite the conversationalist and have a wicked sense of humor but you wouldn’t know it because I suffer from introvertedness and shrivel up into a human form of a trembling tortoise whenever there are more than a handful of people in a room BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I AM UNWORTHY OF LOVE. And by love I mean the Royal kind because commoner men do not interest me.
So i’ll just sit here next to Chelsy Davy and try to keep a straight face whilst shrieking on the inside as I ponder how the f-bomb it wasn’t me standing up there with him today.