All the hoopla surrounding the royal baby got me thinking about Prince Harry and my life. Don’t you see the connection? The royal baby just pushed poor Prince Harry to the fourth position when it comes to the throne. Is that bad? No! You see I made the mistake of declaring myself a Queen at a very young age. Princess, no way. I wanted to rule my world. When my little sister was a toddler, she said, “I’m the princess.” And I replied, “I don’t care because I’m the queen.” Did I mention she’s 15 years younger than me? Over the years, I’ve ruled my castle and family. At one point my hubby even gave me an e-mail address with my royal title, Queen Chris. Recently, I was exhausted. The kind of tired when your body has the pedal to the metal, but your engine is in neutral. I was too tired to get up but too tired to sleep. I decided to let my kingdom run itself and retreat to my room. And a funny thing happened. I became a princess. My hubby waited on me hand and foot. I did nothing for an entire day, except watch ‘MadMen.’ As I indulged in a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream served by my hubby, I thought, this is what it feels like to be taken care of and not because I was sick. The job of Queen is tough and thankless.
I assess the needs of my people, care for them and prevent disasters from coming to my kingdom. I also devise plans to keep my kingdom productive and lucrative while at the same time making my people feel loved, appreciated and respected. Truth be told I often feel more like Cinderella than a Queen. But a Queen’s job is never done until she abdicates her crown, and that’s not happening anytime soon. While some might think Harry is saddened by his drop in the hierarchy, I say no way. He gets all the perks without all the responsibility. Let’s face it, because of Harry’s recent escapades; his little nephew will never get to strip naked with a bunch of women in Vegas. Bummer.
