The Royal Wedding

I was talking to my friend Petey the other day about his upcoming nuptials. The marriage part, no fear; the part where everyone is staring at you during the service, ugh. Agreed.

Imagine being Kate & Will. Yikes!

Yet, she handled it with poise, sophistication, grace, aplomb, and so on. They both seemed to be cracking up, at times. I even think there was a slight air of "Take this biyotches!" Check. And Mate.

Watching the royal wedding from my couch this morning was fun while the hubby read the tweets from the live bloggers on dlisted. (Did they have to stop to get Camilla an apple or carrot? Touching.)

Vastly different experience than when I was living in Jersey UK in 1986 and Fergie married Prince Andrew. I was working in my girlfriend's health food shop and we, along with all of the shopkeepers in Quennevais Parade, were drinking champagne, waving flags and celebrating. Sure, we were miles away from the event, across the Channel (well, almost), but yet on English soil -- quite the festivity.

I want to agree with John Oliver's coverage on the Daily Show that 80% of Brits don't care about the royal wedding; however, there's something about it that's undeniably cool. Maybe it's the 1936 diamond tiara borrowed from the Queen, the reverential curtsy, the horse drawn carriages (that are downright pretentious for others but seriously awesome if you're royalty), the Union Jack flags lining the streets or, more comprehensively, the fairytale-like nature of the entire event.

Swoon. 

As the cover Newsweek proclaimed a few weeks ago, and a recent sermon in church touched upon, "In a world gone to hell, thank God, a wedding." So true.

Time to put on my white gloves, one finger at a time, and pour myself some Pink Champale.