I’m sure you know by now that England’s Prince Harry and California’s Meghan Markle are set to have a royal wedding in May.
What you may not know is that I don’t give a rat’s ass.
While that attitude makes me sound like a proper wanker, please know it’s nothing personal at all. From everything I’ve heard about Harry, he’s a good dude. And even though I’m not overly familiar with Ms. Markle’s work as an actor, she’s a committed humanitarian, and we’d all do well to undertake more humanitarian efforts – especially in today’s world.
They seem like lovely people and hopefully they’ll have a long and happy life together. I sincerely wish them the best, just as I wish all decent humans the best in all their decent endeavors.
Still, there’s the rat’s-ass factor.
Any time a “royal wedding” is announced hundreds of thousands of Americans get all excited, as though it’s relevant to their lives and they’re going to be invited to the event.
It’s not and you won’t, despite the fact that the bride is American (at least until she becomes the Duchess of Sussex).
The couple nuptials will get knotted at Windsor Castle in the 15th century St. George’s Chapel.
This is not like driving to Gatlinburg and having some rent-a-rev perform your ceremony at a tiny house chapel in front of a bunch of hung-over friends.
Nope, this is a major deal, with so much pomp and circumstance that extra pomp and circumstance will have to be shipped in just to ensure there is enough to go around.
Windsor Castle, by the way, is one of Queen Elizabeth’s residences, which means it probably has a kitchenette and big screen TV. That makes the locale even swankier.
In the United States, it’s tradition for the bride’s side of the family to pay for the wedding (or in the deep south, pay at least one month’s rent on the trailer.) In the case of this royal affair, Ms. Markle’s folks can rest easy because Harry’s people will foot the bill.
And they should.
Queen Elizabeth cleared $54.6 million in 2016, but a huge cost-of-ruling increase in 2017 upped her salary to $97.2 million.
That’s some righteous coin, especially since all she has to do is wave at peasants and occasionally hit somebody on the shoulder with a sword while dubbing them “Sir”.
And obviously, that kind of money means the rehearsal dinner will consist of more than just chicken wings and tater tots.
There will be fish and goose and veal and shrimp and duck and unicorn (along with chicken wings and tater tots, because they’re classics.)
And it’ll be held at a really nice place. I’m not sure they’ve decided on a restaurant yet, but if there’s a Cracker Barrel within walking distance of Windsor Castle, that’s where I’d have it. That way the royal kids could play checkers by the fire.
And my god, can you imagine the cost of Ms. Markle’s wedding dress?
Trust me, they don’t make ‘em like that at Dress Barn. Even as we speak, thousands of genetically enhanced silkworms are busy building it.
And of course, the event will be televised to a gazillion people around the world and millions of Americans will get up in the middle of the night to watch like it’s the World Cup or something.
And they’ll keep watching as the party shifts to Buckingham Palace, where an international Who’s Who of the rich and famous will gather for heavy hors d’oeuvres and karaoke.
I think I remember reading that at William and Kate’s wedding reception, Prince Philip brought down the house with his rendition of “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.”
Still, I don’t understand the obsession.
For a nation that put so much time and effort breaking away from England and vowing to never again bow to any man or woman, we sure spend an inordinate amount of time getting all worked up when a prince or princess decides to get hitched.
If that’s what tickles your nether regions, then go ahead and swoon over the Duchess of Sussex and Duke of Hazzard.
As for me, I’ll take a hard pass.
And cheerfully not give a rat’s ass.