The Prince and I have the same birthday, except he is older, which means we would have been the perfect couple. Today, I am in mourning
. Except not really, because now he is bald. The me-of-twelve-years-ago is in mourning. This means she must write terrible terrible prose, describing nothing at all.
Also, what’s a Passing Out Parade? (See under: Relationship with Prince William.) Is that like when you lumber around the neighbourhood on Christmas afternoon? And then come home and fall asleep under the tree, clutching your stocking and a cinnamon roll?
And now that I’m completely bunny-trailed, I would like to make a PSA: Christmas is on a Saturday this year. That means it’s a double-holiday. Woot!
(Also, “clutching your stocking” totally means something else. I don’t know what, but it totally does.)