Well, I've alienated everybody anyway, so may as well let'er rip.
I really don't care any more. The fact that this essay is going to be published on the Web in its original form says how little worried I am about others' opinion. I just wish I hadn't been so delicate about stepping on toes earlier.
Oh well. Gotta do what you gotta do.
I hear it all the time. "Why do you think he's going to be king early?" Just a gut feeling. "How can you wish this on such a young boy?" I don't wish it. I just analyze what I see. "How can you say this?" Because it's what I see.
I have tiptoed around this for months. William, brace yourself. The rest of the royals, hold tight. All ye commoners, strap yourselves in. I'm gonna say it.
He's king already.
Goddammit, hand him the red boxes and let's get this over with. This entire culture has already crowned him King like they crowned his momma Queen. How much more stress could the hand-waving shit be than what we have already put him through?
I am to the point where I don't care if I lose friends over this. I don't care if I start flame wars on the message boards. The boy is King already, and I'm halfway to changing the name of this section to reflect that. Just get it out of the way.
He has survived this far. He will never have a normal life. He never has. We have unthinkingly presumed upon his psychological stability all these years so we could have our long-running "Diana Show." Let that fluffhead momma of his parade him and his brother for publicity purposes. Demanded that he be raised half in, half out of the royal world. Not given a shit about what momma pulled for the sake of her little interview. We're getting the condescending jitters now about what this boy can handle? Come on. Grow the hell up.
He made it through that funeral procession without cracking. I guess he'll be okay, y'know?
God. How hypocritical.
Cry when it's convenient and enjoy the show when it's not.
This child has learned to survive in an atmosphere I have continually maintained is worse than the old Tudor court. That is no child. That is a long-legged young man with (one presumes) no A-levels. Shut up and look what you have done.
You wanted cute in front of the cameras. Awwww, how nice. Well, now what you have is a trained camera manipulator with cheekbones from hell. It's his job. You want to see him all the time to know how he's doing. That is the job of a royal. To be seen. To reassure about the stability of England. We don't look at granny anymore. We look at him.
Wil you quit lying to yourselves and see what the fuck we have got here?
Of all the other royal pages I have, only the base royal page comes even close to keeping up with Wills' hit count. And that's because I advertise loud in the direction of that kind of people. Diana's dragging along so far behind it's not even funny. Granny? Hell, she's still back in the thistles!
Quit rationalizing that it's just hormones. This is a cultural phenomenon. The boy wouldn't look that good if he didn't have that "off with their heads" walk. We may as well have broken into the Tower, snatched the Crown, and plopped it on his head. All of us.
Y'all will use any rationalization not to see, won't you?
Long Live The King.
I pity the corgis.