I’ve been busy the last few weeks and have not kept up with the news. But here and there I watched a few minutes on TV about THE wedding in England. You know the one I’m talking about? It must have been a big deal, but I’m not sure I have it right. Why? Because the television setting, “Subtitles”, which I have to use when I watch British programs on PBS or Netflix, wasn’t working. Most everything said about the wedding was Greek to me.
You’d think that after all these centuries, the British would learn how to pronunciate their words right, or as they say, “pronounce properly”.
Anyway, what I got out of it was that there was this hairy prince. I don’t know his real name, but he has reddish facial hair like crazy. And he was a well-dressed hairy person. In fact, the marriage was held in the town of Windsor, which as you know, is where the first people on earth learned how to tie a knot in a man’s tie. I thought it strange at first that this hairy prince didn’t have on a tie. His long-sleeved coat was buttoned up all the way to his Adam’s apple, and then I understood what was going on. He had bundled himself up so that none of his chest hair or arm hair could escape. No bride wants an ape coming to her wedding, and so he gallantly obliged, although I did see a before-and-after picture. His beard grew at least half-an-inch during the ceremony.
His older brother, who didn’t appear to be that hairy, was his best man, a fellow named William. I did catch his name. Given all the intermarriages in Europe over the centuries, these brothers may be descendants of William Tell. Why do I think that? Two British television commentators were talking about an incident that had happened the day before. One said that William has a son named George, and what I thought I heard him say was that “William shot an apple, Guv, off George’s head at school.” But now that I think about it, what he might have said was, “William bought an Apple to give George a head start at school.” Again, without subtitles who knows what the English are talking about.
Obviously, there was a bride, and she had a train longer than anything the Burlington North & Santa Fe has running along its tracks. I understood her name to be Meghan Markle, and I’m pretty sure I know who she is. She’s the daughter of Angela Markle, the Chancellor of Germany! In fact, I’m pretty sure they kept saying she’s a foreigner.
Also, and you might have heard this, there was something about her father not being able to make it to the wedding. Who, then, was going to walk her down the aisle? Well the one minute I saw of wedding footage – this before the doorbell rang and I had to leave – was of some guy meeting her half-way down the aisle. I couldn’t see his face, but it had to be Angela Markle’s husband, Joachim Sauer, who, although he shuns public functions, decided at the last minute he’d better walk his daughter down the aisle or there’d be hell to pay at home. He got there late, though, and evidently didn’t know where he was supposed to line up. Still, walking her half-way was better than no-way.
Did I mention that it was pretty nice digs? It’d be hard to beat this St. Gorgeous Wedding Chapel even in Las Vegas.
So, what’s going on across the pond? It seems to me that the British are trying to repair the bad relationship they’ve had with Germany ever since Brexit. I noticed Queen Elizabeth was among the attendees. If there’s anything I’ve learned from watching The Crown on PBS, it’s that she’s quite a diplomat. I’d bet that whoever this hairy prince is, she and he are in cahoots. If he’d marry Angela Markle’s daughter, she’d spring for St. Gorgeous. That was their deal. It’s like an alliance of old, where the Queen of Germany married off one of her daughters to a noble prince of England.
As I said, I never quite understood this prince’s name, just that he could get a role in an off-Broadway production of Hair. And I have no idea how many princes, earls, knights, lords, and other titles there are in England. But after the wedding, the people started calling the couple the Duke and Duchess of Succotash. Again, I might not have heard correctly. In an effort to modernize titles, they might have been calling them the Dude and Ducky of Succotash.
That’s what I got out of it. How about that for a fairy tale wedding?