So Princess Diana calls me from the grave and we are having one of our semi-annual chats. I am totally stressed out, and being the sensitive type, she can tell something’s wrong.
“Di,” I begin, “I just heard the news about Kate. You said William was going to pick me, for goshsakes…..”
She interrupts (death has made her more brazen), “MOV, I said no such thing. First of all, you are like, what, 20 years older than he is?”
“But 42 is the new 24,” I claim.
“No, it’s not. Also, you ARE married, and you have two kids!”
“Well, so were you when you and Charles hooked up!” I challenge.
“Umm, no, I wasn’t. I was like, 15. So, anyway, MOV, you just need to get past it and realize that my son doesn’t even know you exist.”
Ouch. I don’t like this side of Di-Di. Dare I tell her that when she was marrying Charles, I wanted to BE her, not to get married to Charles per se, but just to be a princess. In my new (improved) fantasy, it’s all about marrying William. Plus I would definitely rock that tiara.
“MOV….. what are you thinking? Whenever you get silent like that for too long, I know it can’t be good,” Diana probes.
“I was just thinking how I should have moved to England all those years ago, that maybe I could have actually met William. If he'd have had a chance to get to know me, I surely would’ve won his heart.”
“Woulda, coulda, shoulda,” she offers.
“Amen to that, sister.”