When I was younger I was pretty sure that I was going to marry Prince Harry.
It wasn’t something that I was hoping for. Actually come to think of it not something I even actually wanted, I just assumed that it was one of those forgone conclusions. At some point I would have to suffer through a royal marriage to the ginger one.
These weren’t the assumptions of a teenage Runawaykiwi because that would be weird, weirder than me writing this blog post in any case. I would have been around 4 or 5 when I started thinking about becoming Mrs Harry in the same way that you know at some point you will have to do a tax return. For the baby faced Runawaykiwi, before the internet even existed to blog on, it was just a bullet point on my adulting to do list.
I wasn’t drawn in by the Princess thing, the royalty lark seemed like a lot of governmental admin in exchange for a shiny tiara or two (and after all, I buy my own diamonds). To the younger me it was iron logic that made me think it was going to happen. Like he had an older brother, I had an older sister – this means we were going to get married right?
This logic totally works when you are a kid. There is a two year age gap between Harry and Wills, and a three year age gap between me and my Sister. Given that at this point I still believed in an obese old guy coming down the chimney to bring me presents…actually the older sister logic is impeccable.
And there is the fact that New Zealand is essentially owned by the UK, which means (according to fairy tale theories) that the next Princess Royal quite simply had to be a kiwi. Grown-up me knows that in the reality of this fairy tale the UK is more like the evil bastard stepmother making it harder and harder for Kiwis to live here…but for some reason visa regulations was not a major concern for me when I was a kid.
The other part of my mini-runawaykiwi logic was that the attraction to commoners clearly ran in the family. Not that I’m saying that me at 5 was anything like Diana, just that I am as common as muck. Muck with awesome light up shoes, but muck nonetheless. If the father is into the commoners, my again flawless logic said that Harry would marry a commoner too. Actually turned out to be right on that count where Wills was concerned…
Life does not always turn out as you think. SPOILER ALERT: I didn’t marry Prince Harry.
Before you email me, I am fine about this outcome. I mean I wish I rode in a gold carriage more often, but I can do without the freaky naked prince grabbing my bits in a Vegas apartment. Man, the standards of royalty have changed a lot since I was five…