Let’s all pretend that there’s a girl who can no longer get through the checkout lanes at the grocery store in a timely manner, because she must (MUST! MUST!) flip through the pages of all the glossy magazines on display there, as she turns to page 112 in this one, and to page 88 in that one, just so she can see the ROYAL WEDDING PLANS laid out before her in glossy snapshots.
Because let’s just pretend that this girl is a complete sucker for royal weddings, regardless of the fact that the only royal wedding she’s ever attended was her own.
(And goodness! THAT was the wedding of the century, if ever one existed, and she’s always considered herself both fortunate and lucky that she and that cute groom of hers were able to pull the event off without the paparazzi being any wiser. She may also have been the ONLY royal princess to ever walk down the aisle while wearing ivory-colored pumps that were one size too big for her, because she may have been so preoccupied with OTHER wedding plans, she completely spaced out buying shoes until the very last moment, and then the only pair that she could find in Small Town, USA on such short notice were one size larger than what she needed, so she simply stuffed the toes of those ivory-colored pumps with wads of royal toilet paper, and no one ever figured it out.)
People, I’m just here tonight to inform y’all that I AM the target audience for all the royal wedding spreads in all the magazines right now, but I refuse to give in to their marketing ploys to sell me monthly periodicals that I don’t need; I simply hold up the lines at the grocery store and gawk over the full-color photographs for a few stolen moments, here and there, until someone behind me (whose name is usually Hubs) shouts out, “Lady, keep the line moving! Throw your tub of cat litter up there on the conveyor belt for the cashier to scan.”
(Yes, there are SOME royal princesses who DO buy their own tubs of cat litter.)
The other evening I told Hubs, “I can hardly wait for William and Kate’s wedding.”
And Hubs said, “Who are William and Kate?”
I think it’s completely obvious now that I am a stranger in my own home.
I said, “Who are William and Kate? Are you serious?”
Apparently he was.
I then said, “You know — PRINCE William? Does THAT moniker ring a bell?”
Hubs sighed and said, “Oh, good. For a second there, I thought I was going to have to get all dressed up and attend some boring wedding reception; you know that we flunked our dance lessons together.”
(For the record on that one, HUBS flunked our ballroom dancing class, and he drug me down, because I was legally registered as his foxtrotting partner. Hockey-loving IT guys do not participate on Dancing With the Stars, and that is why they cannot do the Macarena.)
In comparison, I spent thirty minutes on the phone this morning with a good friend of mine, and she boldly announced that her DVR is warmed up and completely ready to handle the royal wedding when it airs, and she suggested that we get together with a giant box of tissue and scrunch in together on her sofa while we watch it.
And that, in a nutshell, is why the good Lord above gave us GIRLFRIENDS.
Because the royal wedding on my DVR will probably be deleted to make room for a hockey playoff game, even though the Avalanche aren’t even in the running.
As a side note, I feel obligated to state that hockey is apparently NOT over at our house. I asked Hubs last night who I should cheer for, now that the Avalanche players are busy playing golf, and he informed me that I was to cheer for any team playing Detroit and any team playing San Jose. I said, “I thought we liked San Jose. I thought we liked Mike Ricci.” For this comment, I received a blank stare, which was accompanied by the words, “We tolerated San Jose, when Ricci played there. We have never LIKED San Jose. And when you get back into the real world with me, maybe you’ll remember that Mike Ricci hasn’t played for the Sharks in years.”
And, people, THAT is why I do better with televised royal weddings than I do with televised hockey.