If you ask my mom about the exact moment my lifelong obsession with the British Royal Family began, she has a quick answer: “It was in the womb! I was glued to the TV when Diana gave birth to Prince William on June 21, 1982.” (I arrived a few months later.) She’s then quick to add, “I was so jealous of Diana’s chic maternity clothes. Mine were hand-me-downs.”
Could that be the reason that, on a second grade field trip to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, I *had* to have the Princess Diana paper dolls from the gift shop, then refused to cut them out, lest I somehow knick a Versace gown or accidentally decapitate a Prince Charles?
Could that be the reason I wrote a letter inviting Prince William to a high school dance when I was 15? (Shout-out to my next-door neighbor Katie who sat by my side and penned a similar request to her long-shot love, Michael Jordan.)
Could that be the reason I begged my husband to bust our budget and shell out for nosebleed seats to the same basketball game Prince William and Kate Middleton attended when they came to New York in 2014? (The thought of that royal moment when they walked in during the third quarter still gives me a rush.)