Y’all know we can hardly contain ourselves down here in the South because there’s another royal wedding in the making. This is huge news, since the future princess is not of royal blood or any tea-and-crumpet lineage. The glass slipper belongs to—drumroll, please—an American actress from Los Angeles.
Yes, ladies, the adorable and affluent Prince Harry was snared by the equally adorable and charismatic Meghan Markle, which means England is fresh out of eligible princes. (Weep if you must. We’ll wait.)
Although fascination with the royals and their assorted shenanigans is lost on me, I once dreamt of a career as a princess. In lieu of an ugly stepsister, I had my mother and her unshakeable belief that every young girl should learn to clean a toilet and type 70 words a minute. Meanwhile, Disney was teaching us that menial jobs belonged to peasants, who were usually miserable and had big feet.
But, the princess gig seemed so sweet. No more floor scrubbing, coupon clipping or repellent relatives. Once “happily ever after” was in the bag, you’d just waltz around the castle in a shimmering Oscar de la Renta ensemble with a pair of diamond-studded Stuart Weitzman stilettos. (For you peasants, we’re talking $500,000 shoes.)
But, the hype wasn’t true. It turns out being a princess is a full-time job, and the list of rules for proper etiquette is longer than my POA bylaws. Poor Meghan had to give up her acting career and shut down all her social-media accounts. Future duchesses do not sign autographs or post selfies in bikinis on Instagram. When cleavage goes royal, it can no longer go viral.
Politically, the queen’s kin must always remain neutral. They don’t take sides, offer opinions or vote. That’s going to be hard on Meghan, who started shaking up the world at age 11, when she convinced behemoth conglomerate Proctor & Gamble that dirty dishes weren’t only a problem for women. Now, she’s reduced to ruffling royal feathers by forgetting to wear nude pantyhose under her dress. (Color me gobsmacked!)
The royal family should count its blessings that Harry didn’t fall for a Carolina girl, because her glass slipper would have been a flip-flop. By law, female toes must remain uncovered from March through October in these parts. And, nobody under 83 wears pantyhose unless they’re robbing a gas station.
The menu would have to change, too. Buckingham Palace doesn’t serve shrimp and grits, because royals don’t eat shellfish. (That’s why you don’t see many palaces in Murrells Inlet.) Mac ‘n’ cheese, which commands its own tier on the S.C. food pyramid, is also out. If the queen doesn’t eat it, bless her heart, neither do you.
The royals may adore tea, but it’s not the sweet, iced kind, our beloved regional beverage. Another deal breaker. Your chances of finding fresh, boiled peanuts between the Yorkshire pudding and scones aren’t good, either.
Then there’s the dress code. No matter the occasion, the queen’s posse must be properly primped at all times—from chapeau-covered head to fashionable feet. While Southern belles have no trouble getting decked out, they reserve their right to race through Food Lion in sweaty yoga pants.
Tiara optional, of course.
Jan Igoe is disappointed she’ll never be a princess, but she’s delighted she’ll never have to wear pantyhose with flip-flops. Princes, princesses and peasants are welcome to send their royal daydreams to HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.