Several months back, I vowed to follow a strict diet. I wasn’t cutting carbs or calories, but celebrities. More specifically, I vowed to stop my late-night consumption of empty sugary fluff and stuff articles about celebs. Then, amid all the unrelenting and divisive bad news, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle got engaged. I broke my celebrity diet and happily devoured stories about the happy couple.
But when the non-stop deluge of coverage continued unabated, I got bored. I tried to regain literary control. Admittedly it was near impossible to do amid the 24/7 onslaught of photos, fashion tips, gossip, and wedding planning updates. Still, I tried to focus on the important news of the day. And to some degree, I was successful. I know this, because just last week, I momentarily blanked out on the bride’s name when completing The New York Time’s mini-crossword puzzle!
Then, W-Day arrived. Prince H and Meghan M were everywhere … in the newspaper, on the TV, on the Internet. Inescapable. And to be honest, I didn’t try very hard to escape. No, all my muddled, middle-aged resolve melted. In my defense, it was a lazy Saturday, a typical “summer” day in Berkeley, CA – foggy, windy, and too blasted chilly for much outdoor fun. So, I decided not to fight the wedding coverage news-storm, but to succumb and to indulge.
And so, like most everybody else in the world, I click-clicked my way through pics and videos, memes and gifs, avidly following the fashion highlights, poignant Princess Di memorial moments, cute kiddie photos, and Camilla controversies.
You Say Fascinator. I Say Chapeau
I spent hours fascinated by the fantastical fascinators and trash-talked (to myself) Camilla’s hat, giving it my award for ugliest chapeau.
With an eagle’s eye, I scrutinized Prince Charles’ cameo role in walking Meghan part-way down the aisle. I remained confused about the bride’s father’s absence, but I quickly moved on, leaving that subject for another time. This was a day for celebration. Anyway, Prince C looked nice enough, although he did appear a bit overly chatty. Was he nervous?.
By the time Handsome Hubby woke up, I was able to authoritatively brief him on the no less than half-dozen “Guess Who Stole the Show” news accounts, the media’s collective hands-down favorite for “best dressed,” and my personal pick for mini-scandal of W-Day.
With the assurance of a long-time Windsor watcher, I chronicled the nuanced details of British royal wedding traditions, Meghan’s “OMG” moment at the end of the carriage ride with Prince H, how fashionistas were swooning over Pippa Middleton’s stunning spring floral dress and natural blush fascinator adorned with white flowers, and the all-important details of Princess Charlotte’s diminutive designer dress and equally diminutive wave to the crowd.
The keen reporter than I am, I never strayed from the key details by going off-topic like gushing about how absolutely dreamy Idris Elba looked or trash-talking members of the royal family (except Camilla, of course.)
Yet, HH sadly, but not surprisingly, was unimpressed. He peered at me over his crooked and smudged reading glasses and shook his head as if to say, “Who are you?” And with that dismissive glance, turned to the newspaper, immersing himself in the latest prognostications of how the Golden State Warriors would fare against the Houston Rockets in Game Three of the NBA Western Conference Finals.
With Age Comes Wisdom?
Yes, in the good old days, I never would have dreamed of whiling away the hours royalty (or celebrity) watching. I would have been busy ready the latest foreign policy analysis or rushing to drive the kids to their sports games or friends’ birthday parties. And for HH to start with the Sports Section instead of the energy news headlines? That certainly would not have happened back in those good old days either. Oh, well, with maturity comes wisdom? Or maybe, with maturity comes the willingness to relax and enjoy a leisurely weekend morning without hurrying to tackle the world’s problems or the household “to do” list.
My Prince Wears Plaid
And what can I say about HH’s disinterest in my animated (and informative) W-Day de-brief? Well, he may not be an avid royalty watcher, but even clad in plaid PJs, HH is still my personal Prince Charming.