Wednesday, May 04, 2011

The Royding

So, a few things.
First the Royal Wedding.  I don't know who exactly I was trying to fool, acting like I had no interest in the whole thing.  Sure I wore an enormous satin flower headband to work on Friday in honour of the whole British hat-wearing tradition.  Sure I paused with consideration when my Mum offered to buy me a 'Wedding' teacup with the royal families faces on it.  And sure, I might have actually designed a potential dress for Kate Middleton, just in case she lost her mind at the last minute and asked me to suit her up for the wedding.
But apart from that..I was pretty convinced I didn't give a shit about any of it.
I got home from the gym on friday night just in time to see Kate getting out of the car in her dress.  And can we just talk about that for a minute?  Normally I'm not a fan of long sleeves on a wedding dress.  And I'm not that crazy about lace either - unless it's black or attached to something made out of leather.  But that dress is exactly the kind of thing I can see myself wearing when I marry Prince Harry.  If I had to live the rest of my life in one outfit and one outfit only, it would either be that dress or the inmates uniform that Wentworth Miller wore in the first season of Prison Break:
Because who doesn't love a good pair of coveralls?  Built for comfort and speed.

Speaking of Prince Harry, yum.  When he first walked into the church, I completely deserted my aversion to Men In Uniform.  Am I the only one that thinks Harry kind of outshone William?  Not that it was very hard, considering he was dressed as a toy soldier:
For serious though.  Not that I'm looking to completely settle down, but Harry seems to have grown into a lovely, mature and respectable young man...whom I would really enjoy having lots of sex and babies with.  I just hope they get my hair. So as you might have guessed, I spent most of Friday at work talking to clients about the Royal Wedding.  Or "The Royding" as I shall now refer to it.  The best thing about this was that with every client - no matter their age, sex or general appearance - the conversation would inevitably land in the same place.  With me, saying something like this:

Jacki: I don't care if he does have red hair, I'm on Team Harry.  Are you kidding?  I'd show that dirty ranga a good time!

To me, marrying Harry instead of Will is like being the relative of someone with a baby: you get all the fun of playtime without having to deal with the crying and shitstained nappies.  Playtime here meaning shopping at Vivienne Westwood and sock-sliding accross Buckingham Palace, and shitstained nappies referring to...actual responsibilities and stuff.  That's probably the worst analogy I've ever written, but I stand by it - when else are you gonna hear someone talk about Vivienne Westwood and poo in the same sentence?
So what else?
How about Fergie's daughters?
Check out the pink hat!  I'm sure at least some of you are expecting me to go on and on about it, but I've decided not to because I don't think there's any point.  I don't want to be mean.  I'm taking the high road.  There are no words, and so I will say nothing.  Except this:  It looks like the lovechild of an octopus and a spider monkey...if the spider monkey's vagina were located on Princess Eugenie's forehead.
Now back to the royal couple.
I've never seen a future king and queen get married before, so I was pretty weirded out when they didn't kiss in the church.  Talk about disappointing!  My ideal scenario would have had them making out against a wall while camera-men slowly circled Queen Elizabeth; capturing the reaction from every possible angle.

Even the back of her head is disgusted!
The kiss on the balcony was real nice, I will give them that...but when I tune into an $80 million dollar wedding, I expect fireworks!  When Harry and I get hitched, we'll be consumating our marriage in the Queen's own bed.  Probably with her still in it.

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