The Wasatch Behind: Fairy tales do come true
I felt so bad last week because I didn't get an invitation to the royal wedding. I've been moping around the house all weekend feeling sad and rejected. My family is Irish, for Pete's sake. The Englishmen have ruled Ireland for centuries. We're like cousins. One would expect that when Bonnie Prince William and First Chick Kate Middleton tied the royal knot, all of us Irishmen would have been invited. We might not know much about royal weddings, but we could have shown those highbrow Englishmen a thing or two about partying, that's for sure.
But then, I guess I shouldn't feel bad. There were others who were not invited. Uncle Spud wasn't invited and he is Irish royalty. Ireland hasn't had a king since Patty the Poor, back in the fourteenth century, but Uncle Spud still carries the royal bloodline. King Patty the Poor was his great uncle. Spud is unofficially the Duke of Dingle, but of course, that's only an honorary title. Dingle is a place in Ireland, you know. If Ireland were to reinstate her true monarchy, Uncle Spud would be Good King Tuber the twenty-second. The family of Irish Tubers might not be as well known as the royal Windsors, but they have more starch in their collars, so there.
Even President Obama wasn't invited to the royal wedding, nor was his queen, Michelle the Magnificent, and her four jumbo jet entourage. Not enough hotel rooms in England for America's First Lady and her legion of servants. Besides, Heathrow doesn't have enough space to park all of the government airplanes that follow her around. England is an island, after all.
We always thought President O'Bama was Irish, but a Hawaiian birth certificate trumps Irish citizenship every time. Speaking of trumps, Donald Trump didn't get an invitation to the royal wedding, and he has more money than Mitt Romney and the British royal family combined. Rumor has it that Trump bought a counterfeit invitation from ex-princess, con-person and former Duchess of York, Fergie, and went to the event disguised as Elton John. Front row seat, you know. Anyone with jolly good royal taste invites Sir Elton to their weddings, birthdays and divorces.
Overall, the royal wedding was a marvelous spectacle. No one can do pomp and ceremony like the British. The gaudy medieval costumes, horse drawn carriages, red coated cavalry in bearskin hats, and gazillions of colorful Union Jacks waving along the parade route is a real treat to see. The British people all participate, the Lords and Ladies shouting hip-hip-hurrah, the commoners waving little flags with begrudged civility and perverse curiosity, the London street people openly shouting obscenities at the queen.
Security was tight at the big event. Bobbies lined the parade route with Billy clubs at parade rest. Constables joined the parade in tuxedos and tails. The bells of Westminster scattered pigeons for miles. Fergie's daughters came cleverly disguised as Teletubbies, wearing the proper colors and headgear.
They do have a sense of humor, those Englishmen. For laughs, the royal family shines up Bonnie Prince Charlie and his royal consort Camilla, the Duchess of Drama, and puts them in the costume parade. Charles wears his plethora of unearned military ribbons and honors. Camilla wears her semi-official royal sneer and a bigger, badder hat than the Queen Mum. It makes for great theatre. One can generally tell the rank of a highborn British woman by the size of her hat.
Even the Queen joined the parade, poor thing. Obligated to outlive her incompetent royal heir, Prince Charles, she lingers on and on with a forced royal smile and obligatory toodle-do wave of her aging royal fingers. Dressed by ladies-in-waiting and mad hatters, she sets the fashion trend for the whole British Empire.
Sarcasm is my medium, but the way I see it, the whole thing was a lot of innocent fun. With all of the problems facing the world today, it was nice to spend a few hours in fairytale mirth and merriment. Let the Englishmen have their royal circuses. The world needs more handsome princes and lovely princesses. I wish them the very best.
I just hope we don't have to watch the reruns on TV for another week.