Recommended wine for today’s entry: Duh. Prince William champagne. According to luxist.com, Halewood International has owned the Prince William Champagne brand for decades but now, with the Royal Wedding coming, the brand is looking to cash in. The brand is releasing a limited edition commemorative label, using the ‘Prince William’ and ‘Royal Wedding’ trademarks. The champagne is expected to retail for around £25.
Were you one of the people who got up in the middle of the night to watch the royal wedding? Oh my! Such pomp and circumstance! Such splendor and beauty! Such magnificent gownage!
Did I watch it? Absolutely not. At least not live. I mean, if I’m gonna get up in the middle of the night, it’s gonna be for something far, far more glamorous than a wedding between two people whom I’ve not met, who didn’t even consider inviting me, and who, I feel sure, would only give me a second glance if I were to burst into flames on the sidewalk in front of them. I only thought of that because when we were in London many years ago, the queen mum herself rode by in the back of a stately car. She turned, gave us a look that said, “ugh… Appalachians,” and then she whizzed right on by, even though my daughters and I were waving with all our might.
Anyway, I only get up in the middle of the night for important things like a major menopause moment, a cat emitting the warning heaves of a furball about to fly on my pillow, a dog growling at a prowler, or — more likely — a tabby who is taunting him. Or, as I have done more often than not lately, when the weather alert call comes and I traipse to the basement with my family and whichever pets have not done anything to disappoint me lately.
Anyway, since last night I somehow managed to sleep all the way through the night, I caught the wedding highlight reel while I was on the treadmill this morning. I have to admit, it was spectacular. Even me, who only goes to weddings if they have an open bar. I’m not one to care too much about the perfect flowers, the engraved napkins, the cake that costs more than our normal grocery bill for a fiscal year. I do enjoy a good reception though, and it sounds like Party Prince Harry had a rockin’ after-party planned!
Of course, had I been invited, I would have had to go to the ceremony, take a nap, go to the reception, take a nap, then head to Harry’s bash. So I guess it’s good they didn’t invite me, because I would have had to take my naps in little out-of-the-way nooks at the Abbey, and I bet someone would have pulled me out by my feet and my elegant dress would’ve gotten pulled up when they dragged me and all those snobby Brits would be saying, “criminy, look a’ that … showin’ her knickers in Westminster here in front o’ God un everyone. Bloody Americans.”
Here are a couple other thoughts I had while watching the replay:
I know exactly what was going through Kate’s sister’s head as she loomed in the background, holding the train on the dress and keeping the unruly pack of children who were trailing the bride at bay: Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. (In the words of Jan Brady in a favorite Brady Bunch episode dealing with sibling rivalry…)
And I’m glad that Camilla didn’t wander outside while they were readying the carriage for the grand departure, because I’m pretty sure someone would’ve mistakenly thrown a halter over her head and joined her up.
I was scanning the crowd, looking for Kate’s college roommates, who not only got dissed and didn’t get to be bridesmaids, but they didn’t even get to sit in the front row or anything. Seriously, how’d you like to spend four years holding your roommates’ hair while they threw up just to get stiffed from being a royal bridesmaid?
What? Not everyone did that? Well, I lived with a particularly fun-loving group of girls, and we did.
I thought it was cute when Prince Harry turned and peeked at Kate as she approached, then smirked and leaned over to his brother (who still hadn’t seen his betrothed) and whispered something. Then his cheeks got all pink and cute as only the British do. Well, I know boys and I am willing to bet that the whispered phrase had the word boobs in it.
I also was thinking that this wedding has absolutely ruined the lives of many of us middle-aged Americans with daughters. I mean, when we visited London, one of my daughters, 9 at the time, stated that she was definitely getting married at Westminster Abbey. No honey, we explained patiently, it is absolutely illegal to have weddings there. In fact, I think I remember that someone once tried to get married there and it caused the whole Revolutionary War. As I’ve mentioned before, I lie to my kids a lot.
But now, just when we had them all bought into the glory and glamour of nuptials that involve a kegger at the VFW Hall and a disco ball throwing its magical light across the concrete floor, now this comes along. How are we supposed to compete with that?
I suppose now we’re gonna have to put flowers on the tractor for the grand departure. OK, and we’ll throw in a round of Jello shots.