Dear Willie and Katie,
As you’ve no doubt heard, I’ve been embroiled in a huge scandal of my own here in the 916, the hotbed of Yankee gossip, and it is with great sorrow that I am unable to attend your royal wedding.
In the highly unlikely event that you have not heard about it, I just want to say in my own defense, that it was not my fault. The gravestones have been there for centuries and what’s a little pee in the big scheme of things?
I would also like to apologize, Katie, for yanking your hair in the 3rd grade. I was jealous of your lustrous mane back then and I’m finally willing to admit it. And yes, it was I who made out with your long-necked hippie boyfriend, Nigel, 12 years ago, but that too was a jealousy thing.
I hope that my introducing you to my good buddy Willie will more than make up for that. And no, I’m not jealous of you now because who in their right mind would want to marry a Prince, anyway? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s not like girls grow up reading fairy tales and playing with Barbie dolls, paving the long road of unrealistic expectations.
And Willie, not only am I over you, I wish you and Katie a good, overly-long, scone-filled, many-babied marriage. And don’t worry, what happens at Stonehenge stays at Stonehenge. I know when to keep my trap shut. Besides, I’ve moved on. By the way, would you ask your brother why he’s not returning my texts?
As I said, I would come if I could, but I can’t. I wish you two the best. As you swap spit and nuptials on Friday, I only ask that you think of me.
Sorry this is such short notice and all, but you can just give my front pew seat to that wanker, Princess What’s-her-butt, you know, the one with the fake blue talons?
Long Live The Queen,
Margaret
