Today, the Big Stupid stems from what was originally viewed by that state-run media, with almost-orgasmic glee, as the “reunion” of the Fab Four–Wills and Kate and Harry and Meghan–as they (two distinctly separate couples with apparently no co-mingling between them) at least managed to appear within the same photographic frame to view the flowers presented, and the sympathies offered, by the mourners of Grandma’s death. Good for them. Only an idiot would think this represents some sort of permanent rapprochement, but (again) in relation to state-run media, I repeat myself. (Apologies to Mark Twain.)
It appears that, according to several “news” reports–shock horror!–Prince William believes that his wife (who–let’s be clear, has her own personal security officer to assist her with such matters) is capable of entering a car by herself, and without a helicoptering or snow-plowing superior presence.
Prince Harry, when it comes to his own needy spouse? Not so much. Apparently, he thinks she needs a hand to get settled and sorted. Poor dear.
Naturally, once the chum was trawled in the water, the sewer that is social media couldn’t wait to erupt and pile on, and William the Uncaring is being unfavorably compared with Harry the Chivalrous. (I mean, really. If you can dance on the head of a pin to express your own intersectional outrage in matters that have nothing to do with you, why not? RIght?)
I’d be willing to bet that 99.44% of those making that argument are raging feminists who hate men. And who think that “chivalry” is an outdated, sexist, patriarchal, concept which needs to be obliterated from the face of the earth. I mean really (yet again). Girl Power, right? What better way to promulgate it than to start by announcing: “I don’t need any help to get into the car, thanks so much.”
shocking expectable in this sordid reporting is a comment on TikTok (I’m not on TikTok, but I’m taking the word of the several reports I’ve read) reading:
He didn’t want what happened to his mother to happen to Meghan. He is a good husband.
Unless the driver of the limousine which Meghan entered was as drunk as the man employed and trusted by Dodi Fayed to drive Princess Diana on that dreadful night (word is out as to whether or not Harry–good husband that he is–performed a breathalyzer test to make sure), that outcome isn’t likely. Nor, since the limousine they were both in, wasn’t travelling at recklessly high speed (crash investigators have concluded that Diana’s car was traveling at 121mph) when it demolished itself in a Paris tunnel, was such a horrific crash expectable. Lastly, Diana wasn’t wearing a seat belt. (Hope Harry checked his wife in that regard too.)
God. I’ll never forget the moment I found out that Diana had died. It was shocking, tragic, and awful. And Queen Elizabeth’s reaction–in spite of the recent adulatory comments that “she never put a foot wrong”–wasn’t exactly pitch perfect.
It’s time to take what my dear friend Glenda would call a “calm-your-ass-down pill,” take a step back, and simply let events play out as they will.
We aren’t in charge of this narrative. (If Meghan hasn’t figured that out by now, I don’t guess she ever will. Some things–late 20th-century narratives to the contrary–are bigger than our actual selves.)
We’re watching a family whose life plays out in the public eye deal with an unspeakable grief. It’s time to let them own it, and it’s time for us to respect it and step back.
We can horn in with disgusting and ignorant nonsense later, if we like. But not now.
Meanwhile, I’ll reflect on the personal recollections of those I’ve known who had actual truck with Her Majesty. And I’ll recall this last sublime moment, only a couple of months before she died:
God Save The King.