Okay, I’m awake. I had to take a couple hours nap after the big shin-dig, cuz ‘whew’ it just wore me out looking at Harry all that time. Umm..er..I mean Kate and William. Anyway, I had to jump on here and put in my two cents before everybody and their mother got theirs in first. It’s too late isn’t it?
I woke up at 2 am. Two am for pete’s sake, and I don’t even wake up for sex anymore! Hello!! Actually my alarm was set for three, but the old man was awoken by the dogs who needed to go outside, and I couldn’t get back to sleep after. Good thing too. I was having a dream that my husband had been given the use of a small plane, and had wanted to go away for the weekend to Vegas, or some shit. I was all gung ho, thinking this was so fortunate for me, because I was finally able to get out of town. The problem was I knew my husband had never flown before, so I was asking him if he knew what he was doing. He reassured me, “Oh, yeah. We’ll be fine. Getting it up is easy. Flying there shouldn’t be a problem because there’s no traffic. The hard part is the landing, but I’ve seen it done, and the trick is to keep the wings straight/balanced.” I should’ve responded “Oh, okay! So that makes you a pro now.” But instead I was just going right along with it. We’d yet to make it in the air when I woke up. The question I’m asking myself now is what did that dream mean? I ask because I believe dreams are always trying to tell you something. Why do I get the feeling that it’s trying to tell me that I shouldn’t trust him in being the pilot of our life? Hmm…
My husband crawled back into bed and asked me what I’d said to my son before bed. I told him I grounded him from going to the movies with his girlfriend because I’m tiring of his laziness and mouth, and asked him why. He just laughed and said, “He’s got your coffee going in the pot, left you a note telling you all you have to do is turn it on, and how much he loves you. He even made a bed on the couch with some pillows and blankets for you to lay and watch the wedding.” Ahh…how sweet! I thought. And he’s still not going to the movies!
I got up, wasted about forty-five minutes making cinnamon rolls and getting my shit ready, and plopped down around three-ish. I seen the Beckham’s come in (David is sooo eye-candy, and I still cringe when I see him with HER, because…I’m sorry, she is sooo not worthy of him! ‘Eek!’ Sir Elton with his partner David Furnish. To be honest, the rest I sort of nodded off to, because there were just loads of people that I didn’t give a squat about. Hell, I could’ve had me a couple hours more sleep and just caught the wedding party.
Ahh…the wedding party. ((sigh)) It was William getting married right? Who woulda thunk?! Am I the only one that thought Harry stole the show? Damn, is that one good-looking fine specimen of man…um, I mean…boy! Yeah, whatever! Come to grandma! You wanna know what kept crossing my mind, because apparently I have no shame whatsoever, and no age is off limits? Remember the whole Lindsay Lohan thing years ago where they kept associating her with the words fire-crotch? Yeah, okay…I couldn’t help thinking “Harry fire-crotch!” My bad maybe, but I just love red-headed men! Okay, back to WILLIAM AND KATE’S WEDDING.
To wrap it up: William looked handsome, I loved that dress on Kate which I think really brought out her ‘wholesome-beauty’, the service was l-o-n-g-e-r than I cared for and I could’ve done without all the freaking ‘caroling’, and I thought the kiss could’ve been a bit racer, and to mix it up a little for the queen and crowd he should’ve slipped her the tongue. Eh, my opnion. Oh well, I got my fairytale.
I asked my husband last night why he lied to me. He was half-asleep, and sort of rolled over and asked what I was talking about. I was sitting up with the assistance of some plumped up pillows, watching ‘The Mentalist’, and the thought rather just occurred to me.
“How did I lie to you?” He asked. “What are you talking about?”
“You promised to be my Prince, and you’re not.” I answered.
“Whaaaat?” He’s looking a bit perplexed. “I never said I was going to be your Prince.”
“Sure you did. You told me when you met me that you were different from other men. That if you had me you would appreciate me. You made me think that you were going to be my Prince, and you’re not. You’re still a frog.” I look over to see he is torn between being confused and laughing.
“I’m a frog.” He quietly mutters the words as if in statement, more than question.
“Yep. A frog whose ass I’ve been kissing for years, and you still ain’t a Prince. To be honest, you ain’t even the frog I met.” Before he had a chance to comment, I continued. “My frog was a biker. I met a biker! You’re not a biker anymore, you’re like…some…hillbilly, or something! Did I want a hillbilly, did I ask for a hillbilly? Noooo, I thought I was getting a biker! A biker-frog, but still I could’ve lived with the frog part as long as you were a biker.”
“I’m going to sleep.” He’s bored with the conversation, and rolls over.
I lay there for a few minutes longer thinking about frogs that would be Princes, bikers that morph into hillbilly’s, and a life I didn’t ask for that I got. I thought about the wedding that was to occur in the morning.
I shut off the light and heard myself say aloud to no one in particular, “I didn’t marry very well, did I?”