Kate Middleton, stole my gig.
Okay, so technically Prince William’s fiancee didn’t know we were in direct competition for the title role of Future Queen of England, but had she, I’m sure she would have been concerned. With CVs startlingly similar, she probably doesn’t realize how close she came to being runner up. Kate, you owe Ollie a thank you note…
Kate is a Catherine, I’m a Kathleen who could have been a Kate.
We’re both brunettes with pronounced cheek bones, degrees in art history, and an affinity for elaborately embellished hats.
According to the standards of our respective homelands, we’re both considered “commoners.”
Everyone we know has told us to find a rich husband.
As for any concerns the British subjects might have about my being an American, I can easily put those to rest. My parents are children of the Commonwealth — my father is South African and my mother is Canadian. My cousin Mable and her husband were Mi-5. She was made a Dame after she was injured protecting the Queen in an IRA bombing. Her husband was friends with Ian Fleming. I spell color “colour” and favorite “favourite.” I don’t know, but I think all that makes me an excellent representative of the Modern British Empire.
Even though I was a legitimate contender, Kate had one thing I lacked: access.
I was last in the UK in 2007 when Kate & Prince William were on the fritz. The time was right and I was in Bath, staying in a small B&B on Bennett Street only a stone’s throw away from his Highness’ favorite Polo grounds. Armed with my Burberry oil-skin coat, riding boots, and feathered velvet wide-brimmed hat, I was ready to rope me a royal. Alas, stomping around the English countryside, stopping to pose in front of old English manors while hunting for the glimmer of a crown jewel proved fruitless.
Remembering I had a cousin living just outside Windsor, I bolted from Bath to get closer to the mother-ship. The Queen was apparently in residence, and as I stood at the foot of the Windsor Castle walls I considered my options. Perhaps scaling the battlements wasn’t the best way to secure an audience with the Royal Family. More likely, it would secure an uncomfortable meeting with some disgruntled Mi-5 agents and an extended stay in the Tower of London. Determined not to go home sans Prince, I took my tourist-sized Union Jack and marched to the nearest pub to plot.
I never met Prince William while in Windsor, and for that Kate, you can thank the bartender, Ollie, for being a terribly good distraction.
All kidding aside. Kate Middleton, I congratulate you and His Highness on your engagement. You were a worthy rival and I applaud you on your deserved victory.
However, in the unlikely event your brother-in-law-to-be, Prince Harry, develops tastes in females similar to those of his older brother, you know where to find me… I think we’d make tremendous sisters-in-laws.
5 thoughts on “Kate Middleton Stole my Gig”
You’re sounding sad. With this blog you’ll never make it. Did Kate have a blog? Blogs and royalty never go together. Be their Bridesmaid. Why did you blog? That disqualifies you.
I think you rather missed the point…
With your similarities, perhaps she will need a decoy to escape the press? Or a stand-in at some of the lesser-fun events? Or… we could get really creative, and take your picture all over NYC and alert the press to “Kate Gone Wild.” That’ll show her!
I don’t know if the perks of being a princess outweigh the nightmare of the in-laws.
Jess, you have a very good point.
I think then I’ll embark on the “Kate Gone Wild” mission. It may turn out to be more profitable in the end… 😉