Prince CharlesIt sucks to be Prince Charles.
Oh, you might look in from the outside and think this impossible, even if on the level of the pure amount of money and resources available to him at a moment's notice; the travel, the homes, visiting Mom at the Palace... you name it.
But a quick gander over Bonnie Prince Charlie's life reveals that perhaps a little quiet cottage up in the countryside and a simple job selling fishcakes at the local market would be a better slice of heaven. Let's see how things look from Charles' perspective.
You shoot out of Princess Elizabeth's Royal Womb in 1948, a few short years before King George takes a dirt nap and she becomes queen. Being the first-born, you're tapped to become the next King of England. So far, so good. Three more children are born: Anne, Andrew and Edward. Luckily, none of them seem to want to repeat ancient history and kill you off so you're in even better shape.
The first and possibly last problem is that mom is really of the hardy sort, which means she goes on to be queen for the next fifty years and some change. So much for boy king, young sexy king, somewhat-young king, mature king, and middle-aged king, ensuring either old king or ancient king. Grandma lived to be 101, so that's a bad sign.
The second problem is that you get schooled at all the best academies, sent to the best distant lands and given the best chances in life, and then you go and fall in love with a woman who is just right for you named Camilla Parker and drag your ass until she gives up and gets married to another guy. So much for fairy tales! Yelling and screaming at a window a la The Graduate isn't your style, so you don't stop the marriage. Instead, you keep her as a "close friend" and decide it's probably time to get hitched yourself.
Speculation runs high on which girl might become the future Charles-bopper, and a good amount of people are surprised when Diana Spencer latches onto you, no doubt deciding that being a princess was a better idea than her previous job of Kindergarden Teacher. She's 19 and you're 32, which was another slight hint. Camilla is, at this time, 33, has changed her name to the hyphenated Parker-Bowes, and is still a better match for you.
Your wedding is completely fucking insane. Obviously intent on showing the world that when royals have a wedding, they have a wedding, every single possible aspect of the nupitals are over the top. Attending guests? 2,500. Size of bride's wedding dress train? 25 feet. Number of gawkers and hangers on sitting between the Palace and the church? An estimated one million. And why not? Your wedding day has been declared a national holiday. The ceremonly is broadcast all over the world to somewhere between 700-800 million people in 50 countries, a real ratings show-stopper; how many times have weddings been broadcast over TV before or since? The crushing, heart-stoppingly intense pressure is indicated when even you and your bride, veterans of constant attention and media probing, mess up your wedding vows. (She transposes your two middle names, you drop the phrase "worldly" from "worldly goods" in your vow.) If they're making commemorative bone china sets of your wedding portrait, you know things are out of whack.
And the worst part is, looking back with perfect hindsight, you don't even want this. Camilla, like Scrooge's lost girlfriend in A Christmas Carol, was obviously the one you wanted. You prove this by having an extramarital affair later in life, but let's go back to that train-wreck of a marriage.
Your coupling produces two children, William (who looks like you) and Harry (who does not). Let's leave the whole "He doesn't really have his father's.. anything" aspect for another entry.
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