I mean, I can understand it more if you're already British and you can talk about Britishy things like fish and chips and bangers and mash and French and Saunders and scepters and orbs. But what about say, Megan Markle who is from Canoga Park in Cali? Who was born in the early 80's and is a true Valley Girl from birth. I would say you can't get more American than Megan Markle. I mean, like, what did she talk about with Harry when they first started dating? Actually, she probably didn't say much. She probably just listened to his voice. THE MOST SEXY-ASS PERFECT MALE SPEAKING VOICE IN THE WESTERN WORLD. Let's listen in:
But back to this party.
So, what if you're at the Christmas gathering and you find yourself sitting next to Queen Elizabeth II? I mean, would you venture to say anything? She seems kinda like she's a stone-cold sour-puss. What would you bring up with her? The contents of her purse? Come on...yes! We all wanna know what's in that bag. I imagine it contains...well, Kleenex. Or MD, which Her Highness prefers:
What else is in her handbag?
I'm thinking pretty much anything any old lady would have in her handbag. Mints. Gum. A plastic rain bonnet. Lottery scratch tickets. A complimentary comb from Lloyd's of London. A spare diamond tiara.
Would you ask her her thoughts on various and sundry conspiracy theories that she and her family were actually reptiles in disguise? I mean, if you actually asked her that, what do you think she'd say? How could she possibly answer it? A simple "Poppycock!" or would she actually start in on her thoughts about this theory? Or would she finally reach a breaking point on this topic, throw up her hands in defeat, and admit it was all true. What would you say then?
Let's pretend there's a third Prince who is single and on the market. An imaginary brother of Harry and William. In some parallel universe (and as far as we know, he's not a lizard). And he's really sweet and kind and attractive and somehow you have a meet-cute (like one of those Hallmark Movie Channel outings) and don't know he's from the British Royal Family. I don't know...he kind of looks like this in civilian clothes or a soccer outfit:
And you start dating. And you kind of fall in love with him. Maybe he's not everyone's type. But he's your cup of tea. Handsome without being intimidatingly good-looking. His features, when examined separately are a little odd; but the sum of the parts far outweigh any nit-picking. I mean curly-haired red-heads are not a "go to" type for a lot of people. But he's been hiding his royal roots. And then one day, he drops the Royal hand-grenade on you. Oh, his name is Edward by the way. You call him Eddie-boo (well, someone might call him that. I wouldn't). And he wants to marry you. He's gay and you're so very gay for him and it would be the first same-sex royal marriage. A yes, yes, YES! right out of the gate? Hmmmm....not so fast; because that's when he mentions a little thing called "Royal Duty."
"Royal duty?" you ask, cautiously, "what's Royal Duty?"
And Eddie tells you that being a Royal is kind of a job. One you actually get paid to do. Buckingham Palace actually has a Human Resources Department. You have to get up early in the--(oops, "get up early" that's nearly a deal breaker right there)--day and put on a suit and then do whatever it is they have scheduled for you to do. Maybe visit some Scottish government building and stand around for pictures. Put on a kilt and pose for pictures at Balmoral. Play polo. Play polo? But you don't like horses, remember? Then watch me play polo, Eddie says. How long is a polo match, you ask. About two hours he replies. That's not so bad you think. But you have to watch said match in a wool suit with a shirt buttoned at the neck and a tie. In the summer. And all that standing around in monkey suits (really expensive, luxury monkey suits) in sumptuously appointed rooms; eating the finest gourmet foods (you think to yourself); literally in the lap of luxury. Wouldn't that get boring after a while. Like one Aubusson rug starts to look like every other Aubusson rug. Is that a Hepplewhite or a Chippendale? ...Who cares?
What about my friends? you ask. Can they drop by the palace whenever they want? No, he says, it doesn't really work that way. My family are your friends now. My family is who you will be hanging out with pretty much forever. For the rest of your life. And they really like horses.
Hmmm. Looks like I better take some riding lessons. Get back in the saddle, so to speak.
Eddie, can I wear those delightfully twee little hats in public?
They're called "fascinators," Chris and thus far, the men in the family have stuck to bowler hats.
Maybe I could start a new trend. The Guy Fascinator. You know, they're like twee little hats but they have masculine themes. Like mine could have a little construction crane on it and yours could have the construction site.
Maybe. Oh. And we like to hunt animals too. Me not so much; but they do.
But, you're some of the wealthiest people on Earth. Why would you need to do that when you can eat whatever you want from a store, or restaurant, or Uber-Eats? Wait a minute, do you people still chase foxes with dogs on horseback?
Ah, yeah...I mean, I don't; but they do.
Do they eat the fox?
No. You don't eat fox.
Then why do they kill it?
Well, it's tradition...for them. So will you marry me?
Eddie, let's not rush into anything. You need more sunscreen. Take that kilt off. Who wears a kilt at the beach?
We do. Have you ever been to a British beach? They're cold and windy. Oh, by the way, have you met my cousins, Lawrence and Trevor, the Duke and Duke Junior of West Kensington? Say hello fellows!
And the Royal Quadrupple got the fox hunt cancelled and they all lived happily ever after.