Congratulations and commiserations!
I mean it. And please, before you mark as spam, let me explain.
I’m delighted for you and Harry! You seem like lovely people and I think you’ll make each other supremely happy. With your generous spirit and his understated sincerity, you are perfectly paired to advance the good causes you both believe in. I think the world will be a better place for your union.
But my God, I’m sorry for all the fuss!
I got married last year and I cannot imagine what it would have been like to order a latte and find LSB and me staring back at me in the froth! Or to log on to the BBC website only to find an aerial map informing the world of the locations of our ceremony, reception and after-party. Not to mention having a special edition of marmite dedicated to our nuptials.
And then there are the people who have been camping on the streets draped in Union Jacks for days just so they can get a glimpse of your dress. I mean, I suppose it’s flattering in a way. But between you and me, it’s kind of creepy too, right?
I know you’re an actress, so you’re used to the limelight. But the strange thing about this role is that it’s public property and you don’t get to slip out of it when the credits roll.
As Britney can tell you, everyone will want a piece of you. And the more they get, the more fragmented you will become. I’m sorry in advance for the gross Paparazzi hounding, the continuous digging into your past, and the obsession with your body and the fabric you drape over it.
I read today that sales of a certain brand of sunglasses shot up by 1000% percent after you were spotted sporting them at the Invictus Games.
1000%. I mean, come on! Do people think a pair of tortoiseshell specs are going to increase their odds of marrying a prince?
You don’t need no Spider-Man to tell you that with great power comes great responsibility. You’ve more than proven that with your humanitarian work and the causes you choose to champion. You’re exactly the kind of pubic figure the world needs. But you’re also just a regular gal called Meghan Markle who should have the right to marry a nice lad without millions of uninvited guests streaming the event into their living rooms.
I know you must be dying to get to the end of this so you can do your mascara and practise your speech. But please, before I sign off, let me share with you the one piece of advice I wish I had got before my own wedding day.
Do not miss out on the cake! I mean it, you need to wolf it down! Do not dilly-dally pretending to be all polite like I did. My biggest wedding regret was not eating more than a sliver on the day. Take it from a married woman: nothing lasts forever. You might look at the perfectly iced masterpiece and think it’s for life. But before you know it, in the blink of an eye in fact, there’ll be nothing but lemon and elderflower crumbs left on the silver serving plate.
Amid all the madness, it’s important to cut to what really matters.
Best Wishes to you and Harry!
Lots of love,
(Kate Katharina. Not your sister-in-law. That would be a bit weird)