Curse of the Incurable Romantic

Yes, the curse is upon us as the wedding of a lifetime is about to take place. This is bigger than the superbowl for us, bigger than Obama winning the presidency, bigger than all the billions and billions and trillions of stars in the universe: The Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton.

While a million salivating spectators will line the streets near the Westminster Abbey (Is that where they hold the dog shows? cool), millions more will watch via the telly. (Telly? Who am I MADONNA??)

My calendar is marked, my TV is already programmed to tape (in case I fall asleep during the live transmission---I AM a Yank after all...HEY, bets are on Prince Phillip dozing off within an hour!), a party is brewing in my retirement residence, along with tea and perhaps some beer. (see above reason)

Just thinking about the wedding makes my heart skip a beat! (reminder to self: have Dr, check for miral valve prolapse) I don't care about her dress or his tie, her shoes or hair, oh no, for we of the uncurable R, it is all about....hold it...hold it...the kiss.

Prince Charles and Diana's wedding was a wonder (no, seriously, it was oddly stiff way past the upper lip, not so much below, uh-hem) that just went downhill from that awkward day; Prince William will do better. The kiss felt 'round the world. I will cry and "ahhh" letting out my pent-up frustration ever since Charles and Diana pecked. So profound that Gadaffi will weep and his heart may grow like the Grinch, right before James Bond blows his head off. I digress into fairy tale, sorry.

But isn't this the ultimate fairy tale come true? Isn't this the next King of England, son of the Queen of British Hearts, marrying his true love of common roots ( distant relative of GW Bush, poor thing...actually I think she may be my 6th cousin 6x removed...) to make, oh yes, BABIES! Not just any babies either, babies with GOOD TEETH!

My curse sets in. We of the incurable R are ridiculed, made fun of (I hear your thoughts, ye of little R, as you read this post.), spat (spat?) on like first base, and laughed at to no end. Go on with ye. Yea, I am one of those who raise the prices of red roses on Valentine's Day. I buy diamonds and fall on my knees. I write poetry and sing love songs, Captain and Tennille is not off limits, as love will indeed keep us together. Stone me, I care not. Good stuff what? We of the incurable R understand.

It is NOT the chase or the conquest, nay, tis the kiss. 3AM in Seattle, WA, USA, this Yank, this hater of dictators, fighter for freedoms, will be cursed beyond all reason and imagine how one day I too will lavish my beloved with just such a wedding. OUR kiss will make the world stop revolving to stare.

Sign me, cursed, but seeking no cure. The time is upon us. Doubt that the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth shine. Doubt that truth be a liar. Doubt that I know Shakespeare. But never doubt that I love deeper than any waters, truer than any dog, and forever is never long enough for me to love you.

Off to bake my crumpets!