08 July, 2006

Post-Christening Wrap-up from Mary to Fred

[Found handwritten on scented Kancellihus notepaper, with a gilded monogram and edging]


LOOK. If I go to great lengths to organise a candid shot of you and me IN LOVE I expect you to RECIPROCATE. There I am, sticking my bottom out to the photographers just like the animal behaviourist we consulted said, doing my baboon-lady thing at the cameras, like I did in Greenland, then when they're all tuned up and ready, WHADDAYADO? You EMBARRASS ME. I mean, the photos show me pursing my lips at you and I've got my ARMS hard around you under yours since I obviously had to grab you first and you just look stunned and like you don't want to be there. What's with the stiff neck in the photos? There damn sure should have been a follow-up kissy kissy shot, so where’d that one go? Don't think I haven't had a good, hard look at the product. Niels gave me a head’s up on what they’d be releasing, as per our agreement. At least all those shots of me looking care-free, randy and highly sexualized a la Diana came through. With NO HELP from YOU, I might add! So much for all that effort tipping off the photogs. Did you really have to invite the girls along? Big huggy kissy Fred-Mary “candid” shots had MOST of their cachet neutralized by everyone wondering if the blonde was goddamn Amber. JESUS.

Please don't trot out your usual excuse: pale, pallid, hungover. I actually WAS pale, pallid and hungover myself the day before the christening when you wouldn't get out of bed to bring Ziggy for a walk. At least Jane & Amber came along to make me look better. I had to ask the cook’s assistant to come along and totally wrap herself up in scarves and hooded jackets to make people think she was Patty. GOD, those bitches are impossible to wake up in the morning. Not a one of them has my self-discipline. And then there’s Amber and Patty who are all salt-deprived and parched from the big tequila bender you organized for yourselves the night before. Proud of yourself? No, Patty, I’m NOT driving you to McDonald’s for HANGOVER FRIES like you made me do when we were younger! GOD. Would that ruin my image in two shakes, or what? “Yeah, hej, I’m Her Royal Goddamn Highness Crown Princess Mary. Will you kiss my ass, then super-size me like Kerry Packer did before he DIED?” GRRRR. Just SLEEP IN, FINE. Of course, did I mind being busted “casually” gazing at photos of you and me in a shop window? NUH-UH. Why the hell do you think I TOOK that route. That is some of Steen’s best air-brushing EVER, even if the bub’s yellowness couldn’t entirely be erased. But who cares, the shots of him in that scratchy, yellowed christening gown are gonna ROCK THE AUSTRALIAN MEDIA. Oh, yeah!

Bottom line. You're letting down the side and I don't like it. We have a corporate restructure happening, Frederik, and I'M the corporate psychopath the DRF advisers let in. Like it or LUMP IT. You know damn well that ALL you have to do is satiate my EGO by making it look as though I'm on a pedestal, and let me get on with the restructure. Do you notice?? Letting the staff along to the christening? BRILLIANT! They haven't noticed the PAY CUT because they're so damn STARRY EYED. I would have let them along for the reception except you pointed out the staff would be indistinguishable from any of my rellos. OK, I conceded on that.

You said you don't want to run Denmark you just want to remain my baby boy, well FINE, but do as you're told, if you don’t MIND. Do you think its fun looking at a five foot ten toddler all day? Do you blame me for looking past you and STRAIGHT at those spunky cameramen whenever I get the opportunity??? OK, OK, so my come-hither look resembles a smirk - but it WORKED ON YOU, remember??? I don’t care that you were drunk all through the Olympics, you certainly came back for MORE, BABY! GOD, it’s like your short-term memory is going haywire again. Have you been dipping into the diplomatic bag, schmookums? Well, GIVE IT A REST. I need you to FOCUS, DAMMIT! You’ve got my work to do.

I'm starting to get the SKEEVES with being Australian. Who the hell told Joachim to marry someone with CHINESE blood? Oh, yeah, you were there at their first encounter, all encouraging it probably. You ALWAYS had a thing for her. You’re most likely still pissed that she didn’t notice YOU as much as your scarecrow brother. WHATEVER. But, look, the Chinese are taking over the whole goddamn world and their economy is growing at 16 per cent a year. I am so burned and ropable that Alexandra has the right blood for trade relations with the Chinese. Why can't I be part Chinese? I want the suits to organize something: some Chinese ancestry for ME. Get Chinese Per on it right away. Bloody snippy crappy little Australia - who would BOTHER. I only used those eucalyptus leaves in the church because of the Tasmanian Devil fiasco and the Scots genes in me MADE me be frugal. Bloody hell, what an ancestry I’ve got. So, GET CRACKING, Freddo!

Speaking of Alexandra, who told her she could wear the best outfit of the day? The thigh-high slit will be MY department from now on, thank you very much. My hockey calves will have been massaged into extinction by next summer. They're working hard on it as I write. I’ve got a little Chinaman right here beating them into atrophied submission. He’s gonna teach me some phrases on the side so I can finally start impressing people with something other than my righteous new skin and hopefully, I’ll finally get some good, solo, heroic-looking, Diana-esque overseas gigs just like LITTLE MISS PERFECT. Now we’ll see just WHO is stealing WHO’S THUNDER!

And LOOK. Tell your mother to STUFF IT about the reception. I am SO TIRED of it, already. OK, so everyone thinks it was kinda CRAPPY. Maybe I wanted it like that. HUH? Maybe that was all part of the PLAN. It’s not MY DAMN FAULT that the staff refused to cooperate and not bring the little flower pots over from the church to the hall on their way back home. They’re so damn SELFISH, sometimes. THAT’S why the tables looked so empty with those bare white tablecloths they use for Rotary Club dinners. They totally would have ROCKED if only the staff had done what they’d been TOLD and not if they’d been coral damask with light green runners and pretty multi-colored bouquets because NO ONE IS ASKING YOUR MOTHER WHAT THE HELL SHE THINKS! And by the way, the low number of tables and the no chairs idea was MINE, thank you very much. That way, people couldn’t get comfortable and avoid gazing adoringly at the baby and kissing MY royal ass! PLEASE don’t think that I don’t think these things out VERY CAREFULLY.

About the flowers, FOR THE LAST TIME, in case you were MISTAKEN, Frederik, that was NOT of my own volition. I fight my Scots frugality genes SO HARD, and so does ALL my family. We're making great headway. Whadja think of that horrid outfit Susan wore? My lady’s maid found it at UFF and I had her sew a Malene Birger tag to the inside. She’s too freaking STARRY EYED to notice it used to belong to some 79 year old pensioner in Odense (probably one of the same idiots who went to see her there on her “book tour” back in November). I am NOT responsible for the red accessories – that was her own brand of crazy coming through. At least we got Patty and Amber in hats that covered half their ugly mugs. Except it stressed Patty’s monster chin. Damn. But, really, didn’t you think the flowers were exceptionally LOW KEY? OK, even though they DIDN’T show up on television, STILL. There was none of that vulgar, showy, drama BULLSHIT from your mother. Just a nice, pathetic, completely out-of-scale and -season little showing of buds to buy some points from the goddamn PRESS about how I am just a simple, non-extravagent being. Plus there was some not-too-subtle messaging going on with those blooms that your mother must have read given her double and triple takes after she was seated. HAHA! That idiot Bodil Cath, of course, bought my scam hook, line and sinker. Except I found myself handing a coat to Hamish's girlfriend to wear to the christening instead of just spending a fistful of kroner on a new one for her. You know, the same one that I let Jane wear at the rehearsal. You know how hard I've been trying. Like how I didn’t even bother getting out a coat for you for the christening. THAT’S why you were freezing your ass off. I had on thigh-length long johns, mmmm, toasty! The less I spend on others, the more that comes to ME for PRADA. And that goes DOUBLE for not spending on Jane and Patty or the ‘rents. Uh, maybe you girls would like to GO HOME NOW AND REINTRODUCE YOURSELVES TO YOUR CHILDREN!? GOD. But look, FRED, if I slip up occasionally, I want you to compensate with a wee taste of jewelry EVERY TIME, OK?! Doesn't matter what color, as I suit ANYTHING.

In case you are wondering why I'm WRITING to you instead of running up and down hallways hunting for wherever you are HIDING OUT on any given day, it's because I've decided MY place in history as the savior of Denmark warrants being on the record from the word GO. I mean, the Queen Mother RAN THE SHOW, but all that's on the record is her hubby blubbering and refusing to cut an ostriches tail feathers in South Africa or something, and the Queen takes over. TAKES OVER. SNIP!!! Tailfeathers gone. Oh, and she got the ostriches tailfeathers too. That’s an anecdote you’d be wise to remember, eh?

As you know, Frederik, I have YOUR peacock tail already firmly attached to my bedroom wall - secured with only one or two pins, I assure you. If you want a figurehead place in the restructured Denmark you will want to take note of my counseling, or it will be escalated to the next corporate stage. And don't count on any unfair dismissal laws. They'll be well gone. And STUFF democracy, by the way. Had a great conversation with George Bush about thatty, and learned a few helpful tricks. Having a highly intelligent narcissist as head of state always works best, so step aside, dollface. Look at North Korea. OK, so the yachting is non-existent, but do they know how to put on a show! AND they don't eat much. It's ALL kept for the state coffers, as it should be. AND there's that really important demarcation between BOGANS - I mean peasants - and the ruling class. I want ALL bogan peasant types kept RIGHT out of any camera frame anywhere near me from now on in, and I'm making that clear. Only aristos, please. Except I DON'T want La Baronesse herself, Helle Reedtz-Thott, in the same camera frame as me again either, thanks. Didn't mind a leg-up the social ladder and the gossip rags going to her wedding, but do you think I want to be photographed anywhere NEAR her anymore? She looks like a damn hologram next to my Amazon build, plus she’s a crap-load more naturally stylish than I am, DAMMIT. Can you see why I want AMBER as my foil? Especially how she’s for the time being still choosing to be with Mark, and baby, mark my words, they’ll be bruises and scabs galore coming out of THAT sick relationship!

Speaking of which, you KNOW I didn't give up a young rugby player - the PINNACLE of prestige for an Aussie chick - for a rapidly diminishing, inbred prince without an excellent strategic plan in place, don’t you? You may think two thousand changes of clothes and a couple of borrowed baubles are enough compensation for humiliations like having to cry along with you in church so you won't look more sensitive than me. Do you know what that is like for someone with my hormone mix having to put on a Bambi face? That’s right, kiddo, DAMN DIFFICULT. So, we’ll be alright as long as you remember just WHO OWES WHO.

And NO attempting to usurp my hands-on parenting persona, OK? I can read you like a book. Next time, I get to carry the mink baby carrier, OR I'm photographed instructing YOU on how to carry it, I mean him, OK? JESUS. And let me just get this out in the open RIGHT NOW, if this Islamic cartoon BALONEY continues, you can just leave my ass out of ANY sort of showing of DRF “solidarity”. I DO NOT condone the showy antics of dictatorial, self-centered, badly-dressed totalitarians! GOT IT, bitch?

Where are you anyway, one of the webcams has had a sock thrown over it or something. Hmmm. It was strange to see that it was a diaphanous sock, and in hot pink, no less. Odd, it looked like those that Misse wears. LISTEN, if it belongs to some bitch who’s hotter than me you are SO in for a lashing. And not a hot, kinky way like I used to let you before I got my ruby ring, ‘cause I’M holding the reins, now! Ride THAT horse, baby boy!

Your real mama,



Anonymous Anonymous said...

OK, this is weird, I just read an article in the Copenhagen Post titled: Confidential terror papers found in street. I had read this post before so when I read that article it reminded me of this post.

Sort of Life Imitating Art. I know the article is not about Fred and Mary but still, the plot line about finding a piece of paper on the street with confidentail information runs along the same lines.

September 12, 2006 1:10 am  

Post a Comment

<< Home