In a world that I have just now created in my mind, I was formally invited to the royal wedding that will be taking place on May 19. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. A match made in heaven. Their cuteness is splashed all over the Internet and tabloids, and I could not be happier for them.
But I must decline the invitation.
Being invited to a royal wedding only happens once in a lifetime, and my imagination has allowed me to be blessed with this rare opportunity.
But, regrettably, the happy couple will not be seeing me on their happy day. And why?
The whole plus-one situation. It could be glamorous to show up on one’s own, slaying solo, at a royal wedding, but I’d much prefer to show up with a hot date. Unfortunately, Orlando Bloom is unavailable that day, and Adam Driver is married. So, I’m going to forgo the whole kit and caboodle.
My wardrobe won’t allow it. I’m thinking that most everything in my closet is probably inappropriate for a royal wedding. They’d escort me out in two seconds if I showed up in my preferred outfit, a leopard-print jumpsuit, aviator shades, and 6-inch leather booties. Being appropriate has never really been my forte.
I’m a terrible actress. I’d smile and tell my girl Meghan that I’m happy for her, Mazel Tov and all that, but deep, DEEP down I’d be wishing that she trips over her wedding dress or messes up at the altar. I can be a little catty, and she IS marrying the formerly-most-eligible-bachelor in the UK. Now I actually have to turn my attention to American guys. Sigh.
They wouldn’t let me give a toast. How unfair. I guarantee you, after a couple drinks, my toast would be OUT OF THIS WORLD.
The last reason I won’t be going to this event of the century? I wasn’t actually invited.
A real oversight, I’m thinking. I love weddings. Even though I haven’t received my invitation (yet), I will still be checking my campus mailbox every couple days to see if the happy couple finally came to their senses.
If not, and they (wrongly) choose to forget about little old me, I guess I’ll just see the press coverage of the event and have a drink in their honor…
…but I’ve got my eye on the mailbox.