Everyone’s been like, freaking out about the Royal Wedding for months and the whole time I’ve been like, “This is so stupid.” Because honestly, who even cares about these rich, inbred white people who do absolutely nothing but still get money from their tax paying public? Not me, that’s for sure. Not me at all.
I didn’t even care when I found out Prince Harry was marrying Meghan Markle, an older, divorced, biracial American actress because like, who cares? She’s just some beautiful, thin humanitarian or whatever who clearly wants to be famous so bad because she held a briefcase on some reality show once. Who could possibly care about this gorgeous, accomplished “Suits” star or the fact that her joining the Royal Family is history in the making? Not me, that’s for sure. I don’t care about Britain’s first Black princess. Not one bit. Not at all. Even though my favorite Disney movie is “The Princess And The Frog.” I still don’t care.
I took this hard stance of not caring months ago, before I really knew anything about Meghan Markle, back when she was just some pretty face marrying some charming prince who’s like, into charity work. I took this stance and I’m sticking with it because I’m a Taurus and I’m stubborn and also for months I’ve told anyone who would listen how much I don’t care about these royals and their wedding, often bringing up the subject completely out of the blue when no one else was talking about anything remotely related to royals or weddings or love or or elegance Camilla Parker Bowles.
Sure, I watched the wedding this weekend, but only because I didn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday fucking morning. And sure, it was kind of…interesting to see Oprah and Serena Williams attend a Royal wedding. And yeah, maybe I teared up a little bit when I saw a Black woman walk into that church to watch her daughter get married to the Prince of fucking England. And whatever, maybe the way Harry and Meghan looked at each other made me feel like love might actually be possible in this crazy world. And true, I cried like a baby when the Black gospel choir sang so beautifully during a fucking British Royal Wedding because it made me realize that progress might actually be possible in this fucked up world of ours and that people actually can come together, regardless of race or ethnicity or a terrible, shameful history.
But I still don’t like, care about the wedding. I mean, I spent all day watching and re-watching the footage of it and clicking through slideshows so I could see every single outfit and reading about the incredible significance of this historic event and thinking about how, cultural significance aside, it’s sort of…beautiful to know that the entire world is watching a celebration of love in these trying trying times. All of that may be true.
All of that is true. After months of insisting I don’t care and acting like anyone who talked about the wedding was a vapid moron, I watched that wedding and I cried like a fucking baby. Because love! trumps! hate! Because Princess Diana’s generous spirit lives on in her sons — and in Meghan! Because there’s a fucking member of the fucking British Royal family who’s not white! Because Harry and Meghan’s union is a hugely significant cultural event that will be written about in history books for centuries to come! For all these reasons I care! I care so much! I’ll be flying high on this cloud of love for the rest of the week, and every time something annoys me, I’ll think about the way Harry and Meghan looked at each other as they became man and wife, and I’ll remember that anything is possible — as long as you’re really, really thin.
But if anyone asks, I like, totally don’t care.