Anyone who knows me knows that I called Prince William a long time ago. As a child I knew he was a catch and was my best way of achieving my career goal: Princess. But not only any prince would do. He needed to be my age, handsome, appear normal, and preferably be British because I've always liked the accents. Given my mother's admiration of Diana, Princess of Wales, I learned of my future prince pretty early. He was only a year younger than I. He was handsome. It looked like Diana was doing everything in her power to allow him to grow up "normal" (as normal as a prince being raised by royals and whose mother herself was an aristocrat, thus she herself probably wasn't "normal" as we commoners would normally associate with the word). He was most assuredly British. I called him when my age was naught but in the single digits.
Unfortunately, I never traveled much. I really only ever went to the Outer Banks and he didn't visit there much. I never could make it to Britain. We were never in the same place at the same time. I was already enrolled in my undergraduate institution and I loved it, so I could neither conjure up the funds nor the desire for a transfer to St. Andrews. I knew this would probably be my downfall. It was.
He met Kate Middleton and apparently they hit it off. She landed William AND Lady Di's ring and while I can't shake the feeling that Miss Middleton takes everything from me even though I most assuredly called him first and I truly believe that a woman of her upbringing understands the concept of "dibs," I guess I must concede.
Well played, Middleton. Consider yourself lucky I couldn't ever make it to the UK.
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