June 26, 2000
This week's Boyfriend is someone I've had on the back burner for awhile, waiting for him to hit that magic age. The age that would strip the scandal right off our affair. That age of presidential-election-voting and, in his country anyway, beer-buying. That age of adulthood. That age of. . .Prince William! (Incidentally, the age of which I speak is 18.) Actually, the truth is, when I heard Prince Will had turned 18, my first reaction was to think "Hey, 18! Excellent!" and my second reaction was to forget all about it. Luckily for all parties involved, my boss and mentor is very hip to the Boyfriend scene and casually mentioned William last week. Well, I'm not sure if "casual" is the right word, since it kind of implies subtlety and there's nothing subtle about coming right up to me and saying, "You know who you should make a Boyfriend? PRINCE WILLIAM." However, being able to come straight to the point, no beating around the bush, no sneaky idea-dropping, etc., is a trait I admire greatly, for reasons anybody who's been reading this page for more than a few weeks must find obvious. For the rest of you, I'll just come right out and say it: I am the kind of person who tends to go off on more tangents than a geometry professor whenever I try to express anything I'm thinking, feeling, or wondering about.
For example, see the above paragraph. Notice how I start by laying solid groundwork (the name in boldface, etc.)? Then, not two sentences later, the paragraph's train of thought (choo choo!) is derailed like an Amtrak taking an icy corner of rail at light speed. Honestly, is there anything more annoying that someone who can't stick to one subject at a time?
Anyway, let's get this thing back on track, people. And, really, it would sure help if you'd STOP INTERRUPTING me, thankyouverymuch.
Okay, so, Prince William just turned 18 and if you don't believe me, just stop by a newstand sometime this week. You'll notice he is currently on the cover of every magazine in the world, including the one I bought last week after flipping through the article and coming across a photo of Wills playing soccer and sporting a VERY nice flexed quadricep. Add that quad to his crooked smile (which hovers somewhere between shyness and cockiness -- a happy balance), those incredible Diana-blue eyes, and that mop of blond hair, and just how on earth do you expect me to resist? I mean, essentially the only thing PW has going against him here is that he was born in the 80's (yeesh -- I'm not even old and that makes me feel old). In fact, come to think of it, it looks like he was born the very year I entered second grade and started making everyone at school call me "Kitty" instead of "Megan." Whoops. Forget I mentioned that.
Actually, I believe that may also have been the very year I discovered Hall and Oates. So, as you can see, it's not a year I associate with past pleasantries. However if I'd known then what I know now, namely that that very year, while I was rigging my marble pyramid with glue so that this one stinky boy that I really hated couldn't possibly beat me at recess (I've mentioned I was involved with a serious marble-gambling ring as a child, right?), my future Boyfriend -- nay, my PRINCE -- was being born.
It's truly amazing. Oh, and, by the way, ALEX, if you are reading this, I still hate you and I will never, never forgive you for that time you toppled my all-aggies pyramid and took them, even the one with the little blue speck that I loved and even though I started crying and stuff. You just TOOK them anyway, you big mean stinky icky nasty jerk! And also, I know you used to kick sand over people's lines and then redraw them when they weren't looking so that they were closer, you big cheater. Man, if that had been a REAL gambling ring, I would've had Al Pacino after you so fast your head woulda spun!
Okay, so, back to Prince William, you say, tapping your feet and crossing your arms over your chest impatiently. Yes! I say. Back to Prince William! As I started to tell you earlier, Princeypoo turned 18 on June 21st (b. 1982). What this means is that he's kind of an adult now, so I feel relatively okay about confessing to you that I think he's totally and incredibly the cutest Boy in the world this week. Also, even though Prince William has more names than I think a boy of such a young age should have foisted upon him, he has remained extremely humble, generous, kind, and cool (full name: Prince William Arthur Philip Louis Schlesweig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Blucksburg-Saxe-Coburg-Gotha -- and aren't YOU glad you don't have to fill in all the bubbles on his SAT form? Wait, do they have SATs in England?). (Incidentally, that whole hyphenated last name was shorted to plain ol' "Windsor" by the Queen a few years ago.) He's also pretty mature for his age, which helps my case a bit. In fact, he's already the godfather to six-month-er Prince Konstantine Alexios of Greece.
Heck, I can't even PRONOUNCE "Konstantine Alexios," let alone serve as some kind of parental figure for the tot. So, I am certainly impressed.
Now, the absolute best part about featuring the gorgeous and cute and sweet and nice Prince William is that you can pretty much find out anything you want to know about him on the web. Nobody gossips like the Brits. So, I have tons of trivia for you. For example, Will is a lefty and is 6 feet, two inches tall (as of July 99). He weighs approximately 153 pounds. His favorite colors are dark green and blue (me too!) and his favorite kind of car is "a really fast one." He hates nothing more than he hates the press (I'd yell "me too!" here as well, but as I'm currently dating a reporter, this could cause some friction at home), and unlike his mom, he will pretty much ignore them no matter how much they harrass him (she would occasionally pause to let her picture be taken just to shut them all up -- Will's not giving an inch, lest they take a mile like they did to Mom).
His nicknames are Wills, Wombat (love it), Wow (William of Wales), Billy, Bill, and "Billy the Basher" (dunno). He has a pet dog named Widgeon that he likes to take hunting and he's apparently "quite keen" (as the Brits would say) at "beagling" (Britspeak for "hunting for rabbits using the help of a bunch of Snoopies"). William is apparently NOT keen at fencing, but he likes guns better than swords anyway (and really, if he's going to be the King someday, it's good he get handy with real weapons of destruction. You never know when those Frogs might try to take the island over again).
William loves pasta, hamburgers, chocolate, venison, fruit salad, and poached eggs (presumably not together). His favorite drinks are Coca-Cola and red wine, presumably not together (gak). He was team captain of the Eton swimming team (yay!) and also enjoys skiing, tennis, soccer, hockey, rafting, rowing, and painting. Sigh. Isn't he dreamy?
One web site I spotted says the only thing William has ever really had a problem with is peer pressure. He's been caught smokin' and drinkin' with the fellas' a few times, though if that's the worst thing this kid's done at 18, I really think we could all stop worrying now. I did see mention of of some kind of "sex life" (one columnist at a British newspaper said something about how hard it must be for William to have reporters following him around just when he's begun his drinking and sex lives). But, as near as I can tell, Will's just had two girlfriends and neither has lasted long or been too serious.
Well, until ME, anyway.
Now the greatest thing about dating Prince William is that if you end up getting married eventually, you become a princess. I don't know about you guys, but I've wanted to be a princess since I was two years old. Also, I think "Princess Meg" has a really nice ring to it. Plus, and this is the most important part, becoming Prince William's princess would mean I might one day be THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND. Now, I ask you, could there be anything better than that? Things will definitely change once I take the throne. First of all, out with Parliament completely. When I'm Queen, I want to be in charge and I don't want a bunch of guys in silly wigs hanging around trying to make all the important decisions for me. Also, all kinds of things will have to be brought before me before they can be changed, added, thrown out, created, destroyed, etc. etc. etc. For example, no television show would ever be cancelled unless this action had my stamp of approval. Additionally, all new fashions would have to be run by me directly before hitting the stores. Believe you me, people, if they'd been doing this years ago, we could've avoided acid-washed jeans completely and then we wouldn't have to STILL be seeing them on people who are obviously stuck back in 1983 and had crappy taste even then. I tell you, when I see people in acid-washed jeans today, it fills me with a deep sorrow. Especially if they are like the guy on my bus this morning who was wearing a matching acid-washed jean JACKET with his horrible acid-washed jeans. Oh man, if only you would've just ASKED ME FIRST!! Also, biscuits would be called cookies, and chips would be called fries. It's time we stop trying to confuse everybody by calling things something they are so totally not.
Anyway, as soon as I got all this stuff straightened out, I'd immediately start beefing up the Navy and then attack France. Because I've never liked France. They are snobby, they smoke too much, and they bring their dogs EVERYWHERE. Now, I have nothing against dogs, per se. But I do not want to have to spend every waking moment watching where I step. And also, I am under the impression that most French dogs are the little yappy types (the kind I collectively refer to as "dograts"). So, really, my third action as Queen (first, get tv all straightened out; second, ban acid-washed denim) will be to have all the dograts in England shipped off to France. And then my fourth action will be to invade, destroy, and assimilate France.
Cute French boys will be allow to stick around under the new rule, but obnoxious French women will be packed up and shipped off to Siberia.
All right! Who's with me?!
Okay, so, there you have it folks. As I've demonstrated clearly above, the benefits of becoming Prince William's sweetie-pie are many. Not only will you get to be a princess and then a queen (hurrah!), but you'll get to marry someone who is absolutely cute as a button and who has perfected the shy-yet-cocky crooked smile. And all your children will have cute little faces and adorable mops of blond hair and they will call you "Mum," which is just the cutest thing in the world. You will have a pack of crazy friends who are all like Bridget Jones (v.g.) and you can spend all day making "decrees." Like, "Her Royal Highness (moi) hereby decrees that all children caught cheating at marbles shall be bannished from the kingdom and shall never be allowed to return." Or, "Her Royal Highness hereby decrees that Ioan Gruffud never be allowed to leave England as long as HRH is in the country as well. Also, he must come and see HRH twice a week and pretend to be Horatio Hornblower the entire time." Also, I will decree that all bobbies become Mounties instead.
MacGyver Factor Score: 98.999%. Prince William is obviously going to make a fine Boyfriend and spouse. He's got looks, brains, personality, and a lot of potential power (which his wife can thus exploit -- I've learned everything I know from Hillary Clinton). The only thing I took off points for was that if I did indeed become Will's girlfriend, princess, and then queen, I'd have to spend some amount of time with his father, Prince Charles, whom I cannot stand. Everytime I see him, I want to punch his lights out, and that is going to make holidays a bit difficult. Bloody hell.