A true contrarian, in the Diana vs. Charles Wars of the ’90s, I was a Charles partisan all the way. Poor guy — he was expected to be one of the world’s most eligible bachelors and conduct himself accordingly, and marry a virgin. So he ended up with a toddler narcissist bride, and we all know what happened next. All over the world, women like Diana make the marital deals she did, and manage to console themselves somehow from the vast resources at their, and her, disposal — clothes, lunch, massages, aromatherapy, yoga, decorating, take your pick. I always thought it was impossible that a woman could have as many gay boyfriends as Diana and still not know the score, but there you are. Talk about high-maintenance.
(Alan, who pays pretty much zero attention to the British royals, asked me for an update when the two were divorcing. I gave him the three-minute version. He thought for a minute and said, “No wonder he goes fishing all the time.”)
So now Charles is marrying his dear Camilla, who shares his interests and plays hostess at his table and no doubt holds his craggy paw when it needs holding. I think this is just impossibly romantic. What a story for February.
Update: Now if we could just do something about those hats.