[Note from Frolic: We are so excited to have author Erika Kelly guest post on the site today. Take it away, Erika!]
I’ll bet Meghan Markle doesn’t scoop out the litter box first thing every morning, and I’m positive Kate Middleton doesn’t get all hot and prickly while waiting for the credit card reader to process her purchase, sending up silent prayers not to get declined.
I imagine both of these women, who probably grew up on two-hundred thread count sheets like I did, now wake up in their castle-bedrooms in nests of down bedding, as their personal assistants whisk open the heavy velvet curtains, the light of a gloriously perfect day spilling into their eyes.
I can smell the freshly brewed coffee and just-baked croissants—both chocolate and plain, because who knows what their moods are from one morning to the next—waiting for them on silver trays. Their children are already downstairs at the table, faces scrubbed, wearing the same adorable outfits I’ve seen on Instagram that I covet but can’t afford.
But, even if I could afford them, they’d be discarded in a heap on the floor of my children’s bedrooms, while they, with their jelly-smeared faces, run around half-naked fighting over the iPad.
Ah, royal romance books, sweep me away! To a land where linens smell like lavender, private jets are a normal means of transportation, and designers beg to dress me up.
Where date night involves cracking open the safe and figuring out just the right crown jewels to go with my couture gown.