The Queen and I

Apr 29 2011

It’s time to roll out my credentials to justify why, oh why, with all the crazy and irritating* coverage of the royal Windsor wedding, I, too, MUST cover something royal.

*And, by irritating, I mean AWESOME.

I do.

It’s true.

So if royal mania makes you want to gag, go ahead and skip this one.  I promise to be back to my more common shenanigans tomorrow.

I mostly just wanted to type shenanigans, ’cause I’m about to talk about my grandmother, and that’s the kind of word that reminds me of her.

My grandmother was shenanigalicious.

Like the time at my wedding when my grandmother’s former husband (aka, my grandfather) walked into the church and she shouted across the sanctuary “OH GAWD!  He’s so FAT!  Don’t you think he got FAT?”  And my normally mild-mannered mother sat my grandmother’s royal behind down on a pew, put her finger in her face and told her she’d behave herself or else my mother would escort her hiney out of that church so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.

Heh heh.

That wedding memory still makes me smile.

Anyway, back to my credentials (ahem. excuses.) for writing about the same blah-dee-blah-blah as everyone else on Royal Wedding Watch Day:

  1. My given name is Elizabeth.
  2. I have stationary that reads Queen Elizabeth.  See?It was a gift from a friend.  Probably because she thinks I’m a bossy-pants.  Thinks. Just thinks.
  3. My grandmother’s name was Elizabeth.  Well, actually, it was Betty June, but she always hated that, so when I was born and named something regal, she named herself after me.  We have a long family acquaintance with crazy.  Oh, wait!  That should be a credential.
  4. We have a long family acquaintance with crazy.
  5. My grandmother Elizabeth kept decades and decades worth of royal-watching scrapbooks which I rescued from the trash pile after she died.  And I still read them.  And I love them.

There you go.  Ironclad credentials.  I should have had a press pass to the wedding.  I’m sure that was just an oversight.  Hey, Wills and Kate are busy kids.  It’s OK; I understand.

(Psst… Invite me to the christening of your first child, and we’ll call it even.)

Here’s a little trip through Miss Betty’s scrapbooks, in case you’re so inclined.

In the 1930’s, Elizabeth was a child.

Which is a real coincidence because I was a child once, too.  We’re so alike, the Queen and I, what with all our ponies and carriages.

Before she was queen, of course, she was but a princess.

Importantly, though, she was a princess who spiked her kid’s hair.  Look at that pic above again.

Now look at this one.

See?  Just like me.

I told you so.

On June 2, 1953, my parents were 5 years old.  And 27-year-old Elizabeth was crowned.

Which must’ve been a real “yikes” moment for her.  Don’t you think?

And then her baby grew up.  And his hair fell onto his face.

Which must’ve been a real “yikes” moment for her.  Don’t you think?

Just one of those things a mother must bear, I suppose.

And then there’s all the scandal.  No, not just facial hair scandal.

And no, not the Mr. Peepers ad, either.  (FYI, that number is out of service.  Although I have no idea what I thought I was going to say if someone answered.  “Hello.  Is Mr. Peepers there?” just doesn’t feel quite right.)


Downright hooliganism, folks!

Scandalous, I tell you.

In fact, it might be easier to name the non-scandalous members of the royal family.  But it would be a lot more boring, too.

Hey!  There’s another thing Elizabeth and I have in common.  Abounding hooliganism in our families.  That, and shenanigans.

What Elizabeth and I lack in family propriety, though, we certainly make up in excitement.

Proudly carrying on the royal tradition,

Elizabeth, Queen of the Hooligans


P.S. I have more to say, but I’ll spare you.  Or I’ll comment on my own post.  One or the other.  (Probably the other.)