A Hoosier Redneck’s Review of the Royal Wedding
|Posted on April 4, 2013 at 10:49 AM|
A Hoosier Redneck’s Review of the Royal Wedding
I bet you are wondering how we managed to be invited to the wedding of this century, well as the American trailer park style reporter I attended as a special envoy. I of course took Leslie as my escort in ascot. The crowds up the street are amazing. Leslie said it reminded him of the Snake Pit years ago at the 500. Here we sit in the big church. Am I ever glad that I brought bigger cushions for us to sit . These chairs are a bit skimpy and I knew I would be relegated to the rubber ring after sitting for hours in pretty chairs. We are decked out in our finest Goodwill finds. I won the fight when Leslie was insistent on wearing his Butler T-shirt. As a concession I agreed to not wear the fish net hose so I guess we are rather on the conservative dress scale for this event. I am wearing a fashionable chapeau complete with feathers. Leslie says it is like sitting next to Big Bird.
I begin to scan the room for familiar faces. I make eye contact with Maggie Thatcher. She quickly looks away. Yeah right! She feels guilty. I loaned her my Pink Floyd CD and she never returned it. I think she was going to make a pirate copy. This was right after she left her government job and she was on a fixed income. Oh there is Sharon and Ozzie Osborn. Old Oz must have been throwing ‘em back with Bonnie Prince Charlie last night because they both look a little hung over. Leslie leans over and whispers that he wished he had done something with his ingrown toenail because “these fancy shoes are killing me.” A man knows nothing of suffering for style.
I see my friend Joyce Dwulet making a head turning entrance. My, that red sequin gown is hard to miss. That side slit up the dress is high enough that we could see if she had any dollar bills tucked. How clever to place a temporary tattoo of the Union Jack right above her clevage. She looks fabo as arm dressing for Mr. Craig Ferguson. Tongues are wagging. I see someone coming here, I think it is Boy George….no…Oh yes it is Tony Blair wearing a disguise. You see Tony didn’t get an invitation. He was really freaked about it but I snagged one off of a scalper outside our room at the Comfort Inn and sent it to him. He was thrilled but said he would have to attend incognito. That spring frock he is wearing is a nice choice. The patent leather belt shows off his trim waist and tiny hips.
Oh there is Joe Cocker, he smiles at me and coyly raises a sign that says “You can leave your hat on”…..Joe you devil! Leslie should be jealous but he reminds me that those dry biscuits he had for breakfast are long gone and he is getting hungry. I tell him those were not biscuits but scones. As I am digging around in my bag of snacks he says that he felt sure that they would be selling fish and chips somewhere in the building. Whew, success as I pull out the bag of pork rinds. He will be happy until he needs something to drink. I came prepared with juice boxes so surely we should be able to make it through until the final buzzer goes off. There were so many things to think of in getting ready to attend this big affair. I made sure that the courier delivered our wedding gift yesterday. I know you are wondering what Leslie and I got the newlyweds. Well we of course wanted to send them something truly fine in keeping with our American heritage but tasteful and practical. Well we found the perfect gift. A set of six Elvis tumblers from Graceland stenciled with “Hunk of Burnin’ Love” on them. I bet she will have trouble keeping the Queen away from them.
Leslie taps his watch with his finger. I tell him I know it is getting late. He is worried that I did not put enough money in the parking meter. I am terrible about pounds/dollars conversion so I am not really sure how much time we have on the meter. I told him we may get a ticket but I don’t think they will bother to tow the car. He leans over and asks when they are going to play the Star Spangled Banner. I see that I have been remiss in coaching him on the upcoming events of the day! This is not the opening ceremonies of the Daytona 500. I remind him that they will play something British like…”Mad Dogs and Englishmen” or something of that nature.
I now feel that it is time for things to start. Everyone is glancing at the back of the church. They must be coming…no it is not the wedding party but Keith Richards. No one quite walks up an aisle like dear old Keith. All eyes are fixed on him as he looks towards the Queen. There has always been talk that HRH and the rocker well….to say it tastefully, spent an evening together. Keith turns toward her majesty and winks and we see the corners of her mouth curl in a girlish smile. Prince Philip is to busy shining the buttons on uniform to notice. Oh the pageantry!
I point out to Leslie in the program that the opening musical selection was chosen specifically because it is one of the Queen’s favorites. No sooner than I say this, the organ begins to play the first chords and the angelic voices of the choir boys sing “You can’t always get what you want….”
This is your roving Indiana Trailer Park Style reporter giving you the insiders scoop on the Royal wedding festivities. My first report included all the pre-wedding activity. The ceremony itself was pretty much your standard prayer, music, preacher asking the bride if she will pick up the old man’s dirty underwear. She says yes-cause she’s in love. Groom says yes-cause he believes he no longer has to take her out to eat to get a little fun so essentially they both are CLUELESS! Fun time is over!
After the preacher pronounces them man and wife-they don’t get to kiss. They must have some kind of ordinance in England of kissing in church. That is where the term “stiff upper lip” came from I think. As the couple leaves I think I hear Ozzie Osborn say “uh…well…let’s paw-tee”. And away we go to the reception. Leslie doesn’t want to go through the receiving line but I told him it will probably be the only chance I get to speak to the Queen today. She had asked me for my buttermilk pie recipe so I was going to slip her the recipe card. I also had some half-runner bean seed that Prince Charles asked me to save for his garden. I had a bit of explaining taking them through customs but after I explained that Camilla is planning on canning a bunch of beans this summer and these go along great with fried chicken (Charles favorite) they let me take them through.
I’m not sure if this is really Prince Philip or his wax figure from Madam Tussaud’s. Maybe it is about time for his nap. The wedding couple was so gracious and ladies I am here to tell you…Prince William wears Old Spice cologne just like his father. You see, these are the little tidbits of information that only me, your reporter on the scene can provide you with. I told the new Princess Catherine how lovely she looked. I also remarked to her that she either was wearing a really good foundation garment or she still had that perkiness of youth.
I asked Leslie to go ahead and go through the buffet line. I had a responsibility to my readers to keep an observant eye on everything going on. He could bring me back some of those little pig in the blankets though. I have a revelation of gossip for you. I had always suspected but now I know for sure. I watched as she went down the buffet line and when she reached the chip dip I saw it with my own eyes….Camilla is a double dipper! No surprise to most in attendance I think. Prince Harry was over at the keg and getting pretty tossed. His cheeks get really rosy when he gets a few Guinness under his belt. I watched ever so closely as the Queen walked by my table and glanced on her plate. The old girl must really like potato salad. My biggest interest was in the BBQ chicken wings she so properly stacked next to her corn on the cob. Would she….the whole world wants to know……would she….take off her white gloves and grab those wings with her fingers? Yes! Yes! She yanked them babies off and threw them over her shoulder and grabbed those wings like any good tavern regular. I think I felt closer to her at that moment more than ever before.
Well a DJ with a bad comb over (at first I thought it was The Donald) came out to “get the party started”. They had the first dance stuff they always do. This was pretty much your standard pablum stuff. Then the disco ball drops down over the dance floor and things begin to get jumping. The DJ plays “Shake Your Booty” and Princess Ann can’t sit still. I see the Queen say something to Prince Phillip and he shakes his head “No”. So she then jumps up and grabs Elton John and they start tearing it loose doing the Hustle. I look away for just an instant and during that time Prince Charles and Amy Winehouse are executing probably the worst Samba you would ever want to see on Dancing with Stars. I could just hear Bruno holding up his score paddle with a big fat “1” saying “what were you thinking?”. I can see Leslie has had just about all of this action he can stand. He (like Prince Philip) needs his nap. I tell him I would like to stay a bit longer but about that time they begin to play “YMCA”. Things begin to get really ugly about this time. The conga line begins to form with Mick Jagger as engineer with Tony Blair in chiffon right behind him. Keith Richards is up against the wall rolling something to smoke while at the end of the train we find Ozzy being drug behind while hanging onto Bono’s belt. As we begin to get up to leave we see Prince Charles go to the microphone and we decide to wait and see what he has to say. It is apparent that he has made one too many trips to the champagne fountain. He nods to the DJ and the music starts. What a fine and fitting finale to a truly festive event. As Charles sings the last refrains of “My Way” I think I hear the sounds of a tear or two being shed and feel a bit dampness upon my own cheek. I venture a gaze over to Camilla to see that she too is overcome with emotion as she covers her eyes and then is so emotional she puts her head down on the table. Thank you England for showing this colonist what royalty really means!
(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt
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