Love wins!

How The Royal Wedding Shamed Me Into The Reality of My Romanceless Existence

So — you can scratch that piece I wrote about Harry and Meghan eloping because that was utter shit!

Like most of you — I was up bright and early — thanks to my internalized alarm clock — that has never let me down yet — and with a cuppa brimming with spices — I settled in for what turned out to be the most heartwarming event I’ve ever seen.

Almost forty years ago — on a hot summer day in 1981 — I also got up relatively early to watch the making of a real princess. Diana — the mother of the groom and his best man — walked down the extra long aisle to meet her prince — and all I could I think of was how extraordinary the train of her dress was. I marveled at the sight of all that fabric — being carefully handled on behalf of a woman who was actually quite young when she was thrust into the spotlight — that she was born to embody.

Of course — as a nine-year-old girl with stars in her eyes — I was so sure that this fairytale would remain forever blessed by the gods — who would surely save some of that confetti for me when I grow up and meet my prince.

Unfortunately — the downside of maturing happens to be the unavoidable task of being subjected to the ups and downs of life that can create the never-ending rollercoaster of emotions.