LET’S be very clear about this, Meghan. I am a princess. You are not.
Congratulations on joining the Firm. Harry’s so lovely and funny that one almost forgets he’s a ginger.
I’m sure you’ll enjoy being a dukette or lady baron or whatever delightful thing they’ll call you. There are lots of perks to this ‘lower-tier’ type of title, such as never needing to pre-book at Carluccio’s and 20 per cent off at Odeon cinemas.
But I just wanted to avoid any misunderstanding about who is the actual princess in this situation. Yes, technically I may still be a duchess but ask anyone who ever wanted a fete opened or a potato picture painted with a random group of povvo kids, and they’ll tell you I am (Fairytale) Princess Kate.
That’s right, bitch.
I’m sure you and I will be the best of friends, assuming the proper protocol is observed. This may include complimenting my hair on a half-hourly basis, not eating carbs within 200 yards of my presence and submitting your mobile telephone for regular ‘anti-Kate propaganda screening’.
Sometimes people who don’t get along with me have accidents, like at school when Gemma Carpenter-Price somehow fell out of the Dorm B window and couldn’t have solid food for a month. That was unfortunate but I don’t anticipate any such problems between us. Do you?
No. Good.
