As the days grow shorter and we all spend more of our time shrouded in darkness, we are inevitably drawn to periods of somber reflection. Tonight, over tea, Christopher and I were both reflecting on how my life might be different if I were engaged to Prince William. (This may seem a rather far-fetched reflection, but please keep in mind that my reputation precedes me in all levels of the British population). Christopher suggested that it was unlikely William would take me as a bride, given the whole Mrs Simpson debacle. However, I explained to him that it was more her thrice married status which caused the commotion, and I, having never married, would not sound that alarm (though clearly today’s monarchy takes a slightly different view of divorce anyway). He was also concerned that, were I to marry our future king, I may no longer have a place in my heart for him, but I assured Christopher that were William and I to wed, I would insist on moving Christopher in with us. There undoubtedly would be an opening for a footman of some sort, and if there weren’t, I would surely make one.
I, on the other hand, could see nothing but good to come from a possible marriage to Prince William. Though I am not particularly keen on pomp, I trust that my adaptability would allow me to partake in whatever useless luxuries I needed to be a part of. I confess I’d be more than enthusiastic about going to polo matches, attending galas, waving to the minions, and waking up next to a naked nubile body every morning. I would even tolerate the hunting if it meant I could watch him take a shower. But I think the thing I would like most about entering into the bonds of matrimony with young William is the sense of being part of a family.
As readers know, I do have some family. I often speak of my cherished grandmother. I, of course, do have parents, though our relationship is not as close as I’d like it to be due to the 3517 miles and years of emotional abuse that lie between us. Alas, I was not blessed with any siblings (worth mentioning) and therefore I often feel that I’ve missed out on the sense of family that our Royals so lovingly exude. I often see photos of Wills and Harry clowning around or embracing, and I think that I wouldn’t mind being in the middle of that princely sandwich.
Just this weekend, I bumped into my dear friend Alice Wintergarden at the local Christmas sale in the Village Hall. She and her sister, a woman whose loud and obnoxious tone unfortunately often conceals her lovely nature, were selling cakes and second hand books. Although I was hardly twenty feet away signing autographs, neither Alice nor her sister attempted to speak to me. I can only assume this was due to the bonds of sorority that I know nothing of or possibly the incredibly long queue of admirers at my table. Oh, having a sister must be such a wonderful experience to make a friend betray another like that!
Given my parents’ advanced age, it seems that unlikely that they will issue forth a sibling for me. Marrying Prince William may in fact be my only chance, however slim (or indeed fat), of gaining that real sense of family. I am more than envious of the woman he ultimately chooses. For in addition to the fame, palaces, gorgeous shag, and jewels out the wazoo she is going to get, she will be welcomed into an accepting, loyal and devoted family. This treasure, I can only imagine, would make any woman feel like a princess.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
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