Dear Meghan and Harry,
Well, it looks like you skint the cat and got away clean, with millions of dollars, luxury homes AND your freedom. Tally ho!
Prince Charles must be choking on his Earl Grey.
The last time an American divorcee married into the royal family, it turned out fine—except for the whole abdication-and-exile thingy. Wallis Simpson and Edward VIII (in letters he referred to them as WE, as in “WE must stay strong” and “WE are so in love”) went down in history for all the wrong reasons.
Megs, Megs, Megs. At first, I was smitten with you. You are beautiful, intelligent and sophisticated. Now all I can say is, girl, you play a great long game. You knew exactly what you wanted, got it, and sealed the deal with a baby.
I wanted to believe—like millions of others—in the fairy tale, that a 37-year-old, divorced, C-list actress from Lala Land could capture the heart of a prince.
This fairy tale lasted about eight minutes, after which you decided you didn’t care to do what royalty has to do: Show up whether you feel like it or not, cut ribbons, meet people you don’t really want to meet, smile gamely and never, ever offer an opinion.
Megs, you refused to meet Donald Trump during his state visit. Here’s the thing: You don’t get to choose. You represent the royal family and you do as you’re told. Do you think the Queen has wanted to welcome, let alone entertain, all the fools she’s had to suffer in her 68-year reign?
Dear, there’s nothing wrong with being a strong, smart woman. There is something afoot when the only relative at your wedding is your mother, and now you’re distancing your husband from his family.
I get that your dad embarrasses you: He’s acted like an idiot, but family tends to do that. Just look at what Prince Charles and Camilla did to Diana. Flame-haired Fergie sold access to Andrew--not to mention Andy’s friendship with pedophile Jeffrey Epstein. Megs, one could say you married into a more dysfunctional family than you came from.
Harry… you were my favorite. I’ve always liked your impish “Jack the Lad” persona. What other senior royal has been photographed naked in a Las Vegas hotel room? (His hands covered the crown jewels.) Although wearing that Nazi uniform at a costume party was not your finest moment.
Then you got your head turned by a woman who is accustomed to getting what she wants. You put a ring on it after a year of long-distance dating, got married, had a kid and now are fleeing from the country that has loved you since birth.
There’s another reason I like you, Harry: I love me a ginger. Always have. As my great-aunt Beety used to say, “Ain’t nothing better-looking than a good-looking red-headed man.”
I dated a redhead all though college. Broke my heart, he did. But better a broken heart than a broken marriage, which I fear you will learn the hard way.
Back to you, Meg: I’m not saying you’re a gold-digger, but this has worked out very, very well for you. The big tell came when y’all trademarked the brand “Sussex Royal” for dozens of items, including greeting cards and pajamas. We can read the writing on the wall.
In closing, I wish you both the best--but with money, mansions, privilege and access to the best medical care, you don’t need it.
Hugs to Archie—hope he’s a ginger!