I have been obsessed, to an extent, with the British royal family ever since high school. It all began with a blushing shy Lady Diana Spencer. How could I not relate? She was young. I was young. She was named Diana. I was named Diana. She was thrust into the public eye and expected to carry herself with grace, class and dignity. I tore cartilage in my knee sliding down a carpeted staircase in Tijuana. THAT is where our similarities end.
However, I was drawn in by her willingness to rise above that which she feared on a daily basis to try and make the world, and the monarchy, a kinder, gentler place. I saved every magazine with her on the cover, and I stayed up all night with my best friend Gayle to watch the wedding live. None of this tape delayed business for us. No way. We stayed up so we could see the throngs of subjects lining the streets of London, the carriage carrying the bride in her yet-to-be unveiled gown, and the pageantry of the ceremony itself. I was awestruck. When she and the Prince came out onto the balcony and she gave her little wave, and they kissed, I truly believed in fairy tales.
Now, 30 years later and another royal wedding is days away. I am such a chick….I took a vacation day from work so that I could stay up all night again, and watch it live at 2am. Am I insane? Maybe to you I am, but to me, I crave some sense of hope that romance, and the fairy tale, are alive and well. Charles and Diana’s son is marrying Kate Middleton, a commoner….and I will be front and center on the sofa in my white fluffy bathrobe, possibly with some form of unhealthy food on the coffee table, and some french vanilla coffee. I will be thinking of Gayle and wondering if she is watching it too, and remembering how much fun we had. When William and Kate wave, and lean over to kiss one another, all will be right with my world for a day.