Greetings and salutations my ravishing readers!
I am honoured and thrilled to be the travel correspondent for the global phenomenon that is emmaheaven.com. My name is Lady Perdita Fitzwilliam Tudor-Croft, Perdy to friends, Ditsy D to family and Dirty Dita to my unsavoury exes, but you can all call me Lady P.
My darling readers, to celebrate this month’s issue ~ Fairytales ~ one has decided to put pen to paper, a la fingers to keyboard, to recall one’s very own not-so-magical fairytale, featuring a fair maiden aka princess-in-waiting, a Prince not-so-charming, and a wicked Yankee wench! It makes for grim reading in parts…
Tho I’m confident it will become a classic which will withstand the tests of time, or one for the annals as they say in certain quarters…!
So with a sprinkle of pixie dust, and a flourish of one’s magic wand, let one’s own fable unfold…
Once upon a time there was a gorgeous, sophisticated young lady who longed to find her one true love.
She would dizzily daydream of the romantic moment their eyes would meet across a crowded room, only to be rudely disturbed by her cantankerous father who would rant and rage at her to get her head out of the bloody clouds, and to focus on the bloody here and now. She should find (i.e. ‘settle for’) a well-connected man, ideally with lots of money, a title and a stately pile, to keep one’s family in the lifestyle to which we were accustomed, and extremely loathe to lose!
Then, one week, from completely out of the blue, our fair, day-dreaming maiden received a hand-delivered invitation to a royal ball. Naturally, she did what any young lady searching for love would do: she called upon her glossy posse to start the lavish plans required to ensure that all eyes would be on her, making her the belle of the ball so that the eligible princeling would only have eyes for yours truly.
This military-style operation would include sourcing her the perfect outfit and her entire body being groomed to near-perfection, irrespective of how much pain and discomfort was involved! A stiff, British, upper lip would be needed for certain procedures, but all washed down with an abundance of fizz and more than a little cognac, one would be able to power through!
Soon the royal ball was upon her and her fairy godmother (i.e. Mummy with her credit card), had arranged for a beautiful vintage Rolls Royce to deliver her to the ball in style.
One final check in the mirror to make sure she was looking ravishing, a final spritz of Chanel No.5, on with the most dazzling pair of Christian Louboutins known to (wo)mankind, and she sped off into the evening, for a night to remember.
And boy was it a night to remember…
It started off well enough with a certain Prince being quite enamoured with our lovely Lady P. They only had eyes for each other as they danced, flirted and talked all evening.
Could this be love at first sight?!?
Well it was until a certain Z-lister, cable-TV actress from across the pond waltzed in – or should that be gatecrashed? (one hears that they have ‘form’ on that front!) – and launched herself at the Prince, yet feigning not to know who he was (yeah right…!).
Even Stevie Wonder would have clocked the fake smile and personality! And if that was a smile, it was more befitting a smiling assassin. If truth be told, she wasn’t particularly attracted to him in the slightest, she was attracted to his wealth and status, and being the gold-digging social climber that she was/is, she was prepared to sink to any depths necessary – and I mean ANY – to snare her prince to seal the deal.
Our lovely Lady P knew when she was beaten as she watched the prince succumb to this spell-weaving seductress; he was bewitched by her transatlantic charms! Had she cast a spell on him, or had she, ahem, slipped him – what I believe is known on the street – a ‘roofie’?
He seemed intoxicated – moreso than usual! Was it by her, or by too much (tampered!?) champers? No matter what the reason, our lovely heroine was about to let him know exactly how she felt as she flicked her foot in their direction, ever-so-gently launching one of her Louboutins, where it clipped the Z-lister’s head, leaving a fabulous matching red patch! Or as one of the glossy posse wittily captioned the resulting image in her society pages: ‘Red sole meets ar$ehole meets redhead…’
This shoeless damsel left the ball without a backward glance, in a blaze of glory, spotlit by the flash of the mobile phone screens, which had perfectly captured the dastardly duo’s humiliation, to be uploaded to social media, where they would circle the globe and internet in perpetuity!
Fast forward several years and this contentedly-single dame is able to reflect upon the whole sorry episode with zero regrets – even the intervening years where one (masochistically) ‘carried a torch’ for him.
You could say that one had dodged quite a bullet, because the prince went on to marry the cable-TV actress; they have since inherited some more titles – some legitimate yet ill-deserved, and other, rather derogatory ones! Common decency prevents me from commenting as to whether or not those are merited… And some of these are proving to be rather hard to shake off! Well if the shoe fits…
And off this well-met partnership sailed, into the Monteshitshow sunset where their once-high popularity took a hammering and plummeted to an all-time new low. Not just there, but almost universally, they are the butt of many jokes and an LA laughing stock. Or as Mummy likes to say: “By getting together, it’s saved two other poor souls’ lives from being spoiled!”
Perhaps the Z-lister wasn’t being entirely fake when she feigned ignorance as to who he was when they met – after all, she clearly thought she was getting a billionaire, but instead, ended up with a mere millionaire!
Meanwhile, our fabulous lady watches from afar and laughs as she travels the world with her amazing job, spending quality time with her friends and family living happily ever after.
Not even The Brothers Grimm could have foretold their ‘The Frog Prince’ fable would see such a reversal! What kind of damsel kisses a prince who turns into a frog?!
The End. Or maybe not…
Toodles my lovely readers…
