I must interrupt the highbrow, intelligent, and sage wisdom that you usually find here to bring you my thoughts on the royal wedding.
I know. Somewhere in the world my brother Daniel just poked his eyeballs out.
But to understand my feelings on the subject, you must first know something:
I thought I was Princess Diana herself. Evidenced here:
As a little girl, I was forever ruined when I saw Diana march up that exceptionally long aisle with a bridal train that was four miles long. I knew I had to have one just like it.
And, minus a few poofy ruffles, her short hair, and the ugly, cheating husband: I did.
As I watched the nuptials this morning, the little girl inside me who dreams of fairy tale endings, rejoiced. Tears fell down my cheeks, and I was powerless to stop them.
Today, a simple girl walked into a church as a commoner, and walked out as a princess.
It is the very thing little girls dreams of. It is the happy ending in every story we read to our daughters. It is the epitome of love and romance -- to marry your prince (whether he be an actual prince or simply prince-like). There is not a shriveled heart alive in the world today that doesn't find that captivating, romantic, and hopeful.
And, oh sweet fancy moses, the dress.
One look at it, and I made a frantic, early morning phone call to the Husband demanding that we get married again. Just so I could wear THAT dress.
He offered to let me pick a different groom, too. [I've got a few calls in to Hugh and Colin's people. I'll let you know how it goes.]
But it was stunning, simple, modest, classic, and elegant. I will love it forever.
Here's hoping the fairy tale ends the way they're supposed to -- a long life together, babies, lots of love, and no one named Camilla.