I know it’s un-American to love royalty. We had a whole war about that and whatnot. But, honestly, is obsession with royalty really any worse than most Americans’ obsession with other celebrities? At least Bonny Prince Willy (BPW) has manners, I assume, unlike, say, the cast of Celebrity Apprentice, who just seem like an even more depressing version of that short-lived (thank god) show, “The Surreal World.” Remember that one? With Charo yelling at Jordan Knight, and that singer from Dead or Alive was on there, too? What a train wreck.
What I’m saying is, BPW seems like a much more put-together human being than anyone from the cast of Celebrity Apprentice, and he’s nicer to look at. And at least my enthusiasm for the royal wedding is mild, in that I have yet to purchase any Royal Wedding Souvenirs. Like this one. I shit you not.
Like most women in the world over the age of 6 months, I, too, was mildly disappointed that he announced his engagement to someone other than myself. Not that I had high hopes for ever becoming BPW’s intended; but, you know, as long as he was still single there was always that, “Maybe…” thought in the back of my mind. Now the best any of us can hope for is to become his future Camilla Parker-Bowles, and honestly, my hair is too good to be subjected to that.
You’d think that Prince Charles, of all people, could spring for Cami
(I assume she’d let me call her that if we were Facebook friends) to get
her own hairdresser, rather than giving her an old Farrah Fawcett
poster, a bottle of bleach, and a half-dead hair dryer and making
her do it herself
So, I won’t ever get to be Queen of England, and probably won’t ever get to be Queen or Princess or Duchess or even Lady of anything, ever, what with me being already married and such.
My own family comes from hardcore peasant stock, so I’m pretty sure there’s no royalty back there in the distant gene pool, although my brother Mr. Funny is convinced our great-grandmother is the lost Russian princess Anastasia Romanov. Despite the fact that I’ve explained to him numerous times that, a)our family comes from Ukraine, not Russia, and b)we’re Jewish, he insists that it’s all part of her cover story. Although our late great-grandmother (may she rot in Hell) was indeed mean enough, cruel enough, sneaky enough, and manipulative enough to have been the daughter of a Russian czar, I just don’t think she would have kept something like that to herself. More likely she would have constantly reminded us that she barely escaped the Red Army with her life and shouldn’t we be more grateful for her sacrifice, and be nicer to her for having had to watch her parents and siblings get gunned down? And then she would have turned her attention back to the Home Shopping Network, which she loved more than she loved her own family, and bought herself some cheap piece of crap that we’d then have to throw out when she finally died in 1996.
So I’m 99% certain there’s no royalty anywhere in my ancestry, but I have not given up hope entirely of someday getting to wear a crown and being invited to shoot pheasants with BPW at Balmoral. I once asked my husband where in line he is for the Spanish throne, and he answered with, “Just ahead of Gilligan.” (His brother, not the TV character.) That’s something!
Though, even though I’ve been called one my entire life, I’m not sure Europe is ready for their first Jewish American Princess.