When we think of princesses, we think of the tiaras, the gowns, the balls, and – if you want to go to a dark place – the beheadings because you couldn’t produce a male heir for your fat ass, douchebag king. I don’t care if The Tudors made you hot, Henry VIII; you’re still a historical asshat.
Now that we’re no longer waking up at some ungodly hour to
burn buy bake scones and toast a family whose decedents are our founding fathers’ greatest enemies, we’re back to reality and quickly discovering that it isn’t easy breezy to be a member of the royal family. In fact, it’s a straight up pain in the ass.
As a member of the royal family, the artist formally known as Meghan Markle now represents one of the most prestigious and
dysfunctional refined families. In order to make sure she upholds that image, she must follow a strict set of rules that address everything from public conduct to her personal digestive track.
Some of the rules are for security purposes – no autographs in case of identity theft and members of the royal family cannot travel abroad together in case of accidents. Others are straight up “WTF” – when traveling, family must always bring a set of funeral clothes in the off chance that someone should die. *coughs*Phillip*coughs*
The rest of the rules? Well, they’re more of a preference of the Queen, and based on some of these rules, Queen Elizabeth is one persnickety, old bitch.
Kiss my chance at a tiara goodbye. Here’s just some of the royal rules that I could never follow.
Remember in Eclipse when Bella told two thirds of her love triangle, “From now on, I’m Switzerland?” Well, consider the entire royal family a bunch of Bellas standing in between a sparkling vampire and a teen wolf in jorts. Members of the royal family are not allowed to speak on political matters or vote, must maintain complete neutrality, and most likely have to go to an underground bunker and scream into a pillow when Trump comes to visit.
No Pasta, Grains, or Garlic.
The Queen hates the smell of garlic and thinks pasta is just a basic bitch meal for dinner. Clearly someone has never had my linguine with garlic infused olive oil, and that same someone just killed her chances of receiving a Julie Christmas party invitation.
No Bare Legs
Queen Elizabeth requires that all women in the royal family wear pantyhose with a skirt. Forget the hose riding down your flat ass and making your thighs look like sausage casing; QE II has no time for your whorish naked legs.
Well, there goes my summer wardrobe.
Apparently, the queen finds wedges “too tacky,” and that women in the royal family should wear high heels or pumps. Sure, bring on the bunions and watch me attempt to balance my entire body weight on a twig because this woman…
…doesn’t give a shit about stability or foot arches.
No Social Media
Say goodbye to over stylized Instagram shots of farmer’s market flowers or Facebook quiz results that were most likely sold to Cambridge Analytica. Pretty sure Queen Elizabeth banned social media because no one will still show her how to set up her MySpace account.
You have the wedding of the century, watched by millions. People fly from all over the world just to get a glimpse of your first kiss as a married couple. How do you follow that up? By going to a public event where you and your husband are forbidden to even hold hands. Pure romance.
Sure, watching two people Frenching it up in public is guh-ross. However, having parochial school PDA rules for adults who clearly have seen each other naked and have the children to prove it? Free the hands, Queen Elizabeth, and let them hold.
No Bright/Colorful Nails
Love OPI’s green hued “Stay Off the Lawn?” A fan of Essie’s so exuberant “Lollipop?” Kiss these goodbye if you want to join the royal family. The queen only wants clear or nude colors on those nails.
Clearly, Queen Elizabeth is a fan of Betsy DeVos’ nails.