Will and Kate: Can’t wait!


I’m polishing up the margarita machine and cutting the grass back here.

No detail will be overlooked as I prepare for the Royal Visit.

The dogs have been groomed, so Ming won’t leave blond hairs all over Kate.

At least, she won’t leave more blond hairs than Will does.

Man, those Royals shed.

I’ve piled in a mess of chew bones for Hannah so she won’t drool all over Kate’s borrowed dress, either.

Haven’t you heard?

She’s told all the designers that she doesn’t want freebies. She’ll be paying for her own togs.

Well, that’s not quite true.

Kate isn’t above taking a dress or two out the back door on loan, like some kind of townie rounder who’s too poor to buy a dress for the prom.

So I’d better make sure to put the ketchup in a proper bowl. Wouldn’t want her to have to explain about the leakage to Stella McCartney.

It should be a fun shindig.

Scott and I have it all planned.

We’ll have a van waiting outside Dave and Sharon’s place; they just need to slip in after patting a few screaming toddlers. Then we’ll whisk ’em back to our pile, let them throw back a few tequila shots while listening to a little Monkey Junk.

Can you believe it? I’ve actually had to explain to Kate that no one actually broke into a zoo and stole a Monkey’s Junk.

The British. Honestly.

Kate and I have been emailing over the last few weeks, and she says she’ll be delighted to skip the whole Canada Day mess. All those sticky toddlers and drunk-assed Carleton students with fake red tattoos on their butskies trying to pull her hair.

I mean ewww.

Who needs 40 degree weather, Ukrainian dancers and French bands you’ve never heard of?

We’ve got Wimbledon on the satellite, maple bourbon ribs and so many baked beans they’ll be able to fly to Calgary on their own steam.

We also have plenty of party games. I’ve got some Rogaine in the cupboard and after Will’s snoozing in the chair, we’re going to try to reforest Will’s back forty. He’s so unlucky to have inherited the Windsor weave. Honestly, with all his money, couldn’t he afford the Hair Club for Men?

All in all, it should be a pretty good spread.

Beats the Beavertales.

No Kate, they don’t come from real beavers. They come from muskrat.

The British!

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