The King Prince and I

Well, you were willing to overlook my fashion faux pas with the Ugg boots and it seems there’s a fair few of you who share my left/right dyslexia, but here’s the thing: not one of you could understand my childhood fixation on Prince Charles, so this is my attempt to clear my name on this one by telling you that:

I WAS YOUNG

Young, I tells ya. I mean, I was FIVE or something. Maybe six, who knows. My point? I WAS YOUNG. And, like many very YOUNG girls, I was just a little bit carried away with all those fairy stories about handsome princes and beautiful princesses and shining knights on their white horses (I was more interested in the white horses than the shining knights, if I’m honest) and all that jazz. You know, things that YOUNG people – children! – are into. Then one day someone let slip that there was actually a REAL LIFE prince, and that was that: my mind was officially blown.

So excited was I by the idea that there was actually a proper prince in the world (I think before then I had assumed that princes and princesses were probably mythical creatures, like elves and men who can change the loo roll) that I was totally willing to ignore Chick’s more obvious flaws and hang his grinning visage on my bedroom wall.

Then Star Wars came along and I was all, "screw you, P.C., if you don’t got no Wookie, I don’t want to know." And that was that.

These days, obviously, His Highness and I have long since gone our separate ways. He’s nothing to me now. I still like Harrison Ford, though.

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