This all started in November when Wills (as those of us who are close to him call him) announced his engagement to Catherine (Kate, to her friends). It was at this point that I started having delusions of booking a trip to London to "witness" the nuptials. I began monitoring flights across the pond, but was quickly reigned in by a sensible husband (and, truth be told, budgetary constraints). My own good sense did not prevail, as the early stages of RWF were already at work.
I have eaten up the dish about who would design the dress, the babble about whether or not Kate would wear a veil or a tiara or flowers in her hair, and other blather about carriages, cars, and horse allergies. When it was revealed that the Royal Wedding would take place at 10:00 a.m. London-time (that's 5:00 a.m. D.C.-time, kids), I made the (very astute) decision to take off of work that day so as not to miss a minute of the festivities. I racked my brain trying to think of ways to mark the day . . . what would be an appropriate way to celebrate on this side of the pond? And then it hit me . . . what's more British than tea? Nothing, that's what. So I made reservations for WH and I to go to high tea the afternoon of the wedding day. What a fitting tribute, right?
I have been much maligned for my excitement . . . but, curiously enough, our intimate little tea party-for-two has turned in to tea-for-ten. Parents, friends, friends-parents . . . come one, come all to my Royal Wedding party. Beware, you'll catch RWF too, if you don't watch out.
From what I can figure, the symptoms of RWF are these:
- You feel the need to wear a hat. Preferably with feathers. You consider becoming a "hat person," who wears hats to various occasions, including, but not limited to weddings, showers, polo matches, and tea parties.
|via Kate Middleton For The Win (a must-see for the snarky Middleton fan)|
- You agonize over your Royal Wedding breakfast menu. What will you serve on the big day? Will it compare to the buffet lunch that Windsors will be serving?
- You find yourself making Kate/Diana comparisons and getting indignant when someone says, "She's no Diana," or "I think she's kind of boring." Yes, someone actually said that. True story.
- You force your unsuspecting family to discuss the merits of the Royal Wedding during Easter dinner, whether they want to or not.
- You are late to work each morning because you are captivated by the latest developments in Royal Wedding news. The hat (yes, hats again!) to be worn by a Royal Wedding guest was the featured segment on Good Morning America earlier this week. And I had to see it.
- Once you get to work, you are unable to concentrate on anything because you are planning your tea party, wedding-watching party, and wondering what juicy tidbits the media has been able to dig up in the minutes and hours since you last were in front of a television.
- You add the "Official Royal Wedding" website to your bookmarks and obsessively check it every hour on the hour to see what the news is. You may or may not also add @ClarenceHouse to the list of folks on Twitter you follow. It is the Prince of Wales' official Twitter feed after all.
- You insist that your sister-hairdresser make your hair look like Kate's, no matter how much she laughs at you, going so far as to demand the shine. When she tells you Kate's hair looks like that because she probably uses a $75 conditioner, you outwardly scoff, but secretly consider purchasing one.
- You annoy friends, coworkers, and family members with your incessant chatter about "the big day." When they roll their eyes or stop responding to your text messages, you pretend not to notice and simply forge ahead.
- You lose three Facebook friends a day because of your hourly updates to your status about the Royal Wedding plans (and/or news items about Will/Kate/Pippa/Harry/Diana/Westminster Abbey/hats). You don't care and keep posting.
- You have Royal Wedding dreams. Usually where you sit near the banks of the Thames with fellow revelers as Will and Kate pass by, happily waving from their coach. Even though the route they will take goes nowhere near the Thames (minor details). And then there's that one where you're actually, miraculously, invited to the wedding. All three parts. And you hope you may never wake up from it . . .
If you are suffering from three or more of these symptoms, I'm afraid you've got RWF. The cure, of course, is to watch the Royal Wedding on Friday, and perhaps several times over the weekend. Have a spot of Earl Grey (lemon or cream, never sugar) and a cucumber sandwich, and enjoy the ride. Give in to it . . . because to fight it would simply be uncivilized.