Instead of hearing about car bombings and Shiite Muslims first thing this morning, I heard the enchanting news that Prince Charles will finally wed his long time love, Camilla Parker-Bowles, in April.
As you may recall, the prince once revealed his desire to be Camilla's tampon in a telephone call that was overheard by the British press. If that's not true love, what is?
Even Princess Diana wanted Charles to make an honest woman out of Camilla even if he only wanted to make a feminine hygiene product out of himself.
Let's face facts. Charles had to marry a young girl who was a virgin and he needed to produce heirs. Male heirs, preferably.
Well, she held up her part of the deal with the male offspring, even if one has turned out to have incredibly bad judgment. With the Brits' luck, he's the one who'll ascend to the throne.
Diana was a very popular princess, a very photogenic one, and whether or not she looked great in clothes because of her eating disorder or not could be the subject of debate. Her marriage busted up and then she and her new boyfriend were killed in a car accident. It was a very tragic end to be sure.
The monarchy seems to be adapting to Charles' wish to be with the woman he really loves.
And Camilla, bless her heart, is two years older than he.
So you see, girls, even the old broads can finally get their prince. It's a good sign for all of us.
2 comments:
Every evening after dinner as the servants are clearing the table, Charles as if saying it for the first time motions towards Camille and asks spritely, "Won't you play some checkers with me, my dear?" Camille replies with equal earnestness, "Oh I'd love to, Charles. So kind of you to ask."
They open a bottle of wine only available to Royalty. And start drinking like there's no tomorrow.
They play seriously and purposely.
Camille, through what is quickly an alcoholic haze, remembers (as she must always remember) that she has to play to win. Yes, play to win, but with a certain concession of unspeakable importance. There is a certain unstated ritual that cannot be missed due to a misstep that would result in an early victory on her part.
And so it arrives. Charles has moved one of his checkers all the way across the board and two fingers atop moves it to its preordained destiny (but disguised so well as to suggest a wonderful skill). It can be moved no further. It WILL be rewarded.
And Charles cries at the top of his lungs, (crying) (laughing) (pleading) (confessing)(and oh yes... DEMANDING), "KING ME!!! KING ME!!! BY THE POWERS THAT BE!!! BY THE RIGHT OF MY BIRTH!!! I beseech thee, nay I COMMAND thee, KING ME!"
He stands exhausted, flustered, half-insane... but with a look of determination that is undeniably the source of strength and power passed on generation upon generation. He staggers. He moans. He falls to the floor. Looks up and whispers a painful whisper, "oh my dear Camille, would you not have mercy on me...Please, oh please, have I not earned it? please, king me".
And Camille looks at him askance, rips open her most luxurious dress and screams, "My lord... here is thy crown! I AM YOUR SERVANT! To my death I will assert thy sovereignty from this day to the day the empire exists no more."
And with that she puts one checker atop the other and announces with propriety, "THOU ART KINGED".
And with that... they continue the game... (which she invariably wins... and that's okay... for he has been kinged)
And they drink another bottle (not as precious this time... but it tastes as sweet...for he has been kinged).
And they look lovingly into one another eyes - feeling a transcendant love only those who have pledged tampon unity could ever, ever realize.
And on the morrow, there will be much that a Prince has has duty to do and he will persevere and accomplish some small measure of good. And whatever thoughts of mundanity and despair that might creep into his consciousness - he will be able to quickly dismiss. Not important he will easily see... knowing that there will be the evening - yes the sweet evening... and the game (the royal game) whence kings are appropriatly crowned (YES! appropriately crowned) as the game comes to be played... Anew.
Phew.
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