Somewhere in Ireland, a granny is missing her lace tablecloth. But we’ve all seen it make an appearance on the body of Kate Middleton. And now, it’s traveled the globe. Has anyone yet alerted Interpol?
Don’t worry, Irish Granny! We’ll now explain, but it’s a longish story. Anyway, here it goes:
His Royal Balding Boringness, Her Royal Fakey Frumpiness, and Little Lord Fatness have now departed Australia and New Zealand, where they bored the entire world for nineteen days with the most vapid royal tour ever undertaken in the name of the Crown, except for Easter Sunday, when Middleton actually wore princessy, appropriate clothing to church (a softly feminine, dove-grey coat from Alexander McQueen), and on Good Friday at the Sydney Royal Easter Show, when Her Frumpiness let go before the international press with some Freudian zingers regarding her marital "banter" with her husband, whom she said could use a brownish tuft of alpaca wool (or something sheepy-like) as a toupee to cover his "bald patch," and further revealed that he had somewhat negatively opined that a banana- yellow frock by Roksanda Illinicic made her "look like a banana," and another bright-green dress by Turkish designer Erdem was "a bit bright."
At least, I think that it was the green Erdem dress–the one with the long, long zipper that runs down the entire front of Kate Middleton– from the tip of her chinny-chin-chin to wherever the international date line, that area between Kate’s lady parts area and her knee-tops. I thought there could be only one such bright green easy-in, easy-out dress for Kate. So, imagine my surprise when Kate showed up with TWO such dresses! Both bright green, and both with sexy, full-length frontal head-to-toe zippy-zips.
Then, it turns out that Kate’s yellow banana dress has a sexy three-quarter zip up and down Kate’s back. Side. Backside. Ahem.
In and out! Out and in! Up and down! Back and front! Wasn’t it the semi-autobiographical novelist Erica Jong who wrote the whole thing up decades ago as the zipless....uhm....the zipless.....
Well, if we want to know all about zipless sex, we can just read Kate’s schoolchum’s Emmas Sayles’s book about her sex orgy business– which was released shortly before Kate and William returned to the British Isles.
But maybe Middleton was just fending off further anticipated fashion criticism because she was dressed up in an Irish granny’s tablecloth at the time. A white, lacy tablecloth just like the one you’d find carefully packed away in an ancient trousseau chest in a thatched hut of a house in Ireland. A treasured family heirloom, the kind of which was likely sold to pay passage so that my ancestors could sail first to Liverpool and then to Ellis Island and then live free and far away from the evil landowners who held them in serfdom for many generations, so that their great, great, great Irish-American grandchildren could go online one morning, google "Kate Middleton," gasp, and say, "Look! It’s our Irish granny’s fabled Irish tablecloth!"
How dare they call it "Broderie Anglaise"? "Anglaise," indeedy!
That getup worn by Kate Middleton is an Irish granny’s heirloom tablecloth.
Waity might as well as wrapped herself up in the green, white and orange Irish flag!
One wonders whether she ordered a pint of Guinness, some blood sausage and a loaf of soda bread to go with that.
We thought the chin-to-toe zipper on the green Erdem dress was interesting. Just the thing to wear in the taxi to a "Killing Kittens" sex party hosted by Kate Middleton’s former friend, Emma Sayles.
Easy on, easy off. Or out of, as the case may be. And then, she unpacked and wore another green dress with a head-to-toe zipper–this one by Catherine Walker, accessorized with a big green belt.
Kate wore the Erdem zippered green ensemble in New Zealand to the Avantidrome and then to a hospice where she looked, frankly, bored. The green Catherine Walker dress appeared on Kate at the National Arboretum in Canberra. Kate admitted the Venetian wool Walker frock was “a bit hot,” but one can only imagine how she could pull that zipper down to belt-level just in time for a “Killing Kittens” party.
In fact, keeping all those zippers zipped up to her chinny-chin-chin seemed to be a bit too much of a puritan pretense for a woman who likes to wear skirts that flip and flap around her hips in the breeze.
She and William then raced his-and-hers matchy-matchy America’s Cup yachts in Aukland, wearing her stripey long-sleeved T-shirt and a sailing harness, but without a trace of the crash helmet, protective gear or life jacket that might have saved the life of British Artemis Racing yachting strategist Andrew Simpson, who recently drowned when the catamaran he was sailing in preparation for American’s Cup capsized in San Francisco Bay.
And then there was the little snag near Brisbane at the Royal Australian Air Force Base, Amberley, when Middleton, smartly attired in a white L.K. Bennett dress decorated with China-blue poppies and froo-froo thingies and wearing a pair of Princess Diana’s best sapphire earrings, stepped out in front of William (who actually holds the title they both bear), and cut him off as she jumped into the fighter pilot’s seat of an FIA-18F Super Hornet Fighter (and almost hit the "eject" button, which might have killed her, as earlier happened to Flight Lieutenant Sean Cunningham of the British elite "Red Arrows" when his Hawk T-1 aircraft seat suddenly ejected while the plane craft was stationary).
Prince William's cautionary "be careful" to Kate was met with silence.
Yup– although bored to sleep by Kate's fashion displays, we woke up for that very public dissing by Kate of her hubby that the sycophantic press hailed as evidence of Kate’s "growing confidence."
Is that what it’s called now?
Miraculously, if Her Bossiness flashed her lady parts at us while getting into the jet cockpit, the Australian newspapers mercifully spared us the details. Photos showed only a lot of thigh, and no lady parts. But then, it's a military base, and they censor everything, so who knows?
But the "banana" and "bald patch" snippets and then shoving his Royal Bald Patchness away from a military aircraft are just a little sampling of the peculiar marital hell that the Cambridges now live and breathe, between trips to luxury resorts in the Maldives and Mustique where they flit off to recover from spells of exhausting "work," which appears to consist mostly of accepting floral bouquets, spinning records with disc jockeys, and shaking the hands of stay-at-home mothers and secretaries who have called in sick to work in order to take the day off to see them cut a ribbon or visit a center of some kind.
A wifey wickedly waxing with wanton abandon about her hubby’s bald spot?
Nothing worth twisting your panties in a knot over, except that, wait, wait, wait....
Kate Middleton wasn’t wearing any panties. Or at least, none that we could see.
And when her skirt flew up to her waist, we could see plenty. We could see her leg freckles!
A triangle of ...something.
It didn’t look like underwear, but it wasn’t particularly hairy or rubyfruit jungly looking, either. So we aren’t sure whether Kate was wearing panties that day, under her costly Catherine Walker fire engine-red coat dress.
But if your skirt goes up so high that people can see your leg freckles, then does it matter?
When Her Royal Fakey Frumpiness first set foot down the stairs from her jet, mummified in a head-to-toe, traffic-light crimson, brass-buttoned stewardess ensemble from her retro-Jackie-O!, we thought we were reasonably safe from threat of arrest for again seeing Kate’s lady parts. Her heavy Catherine Walker military-style coatdress seemed dense enough to cover the most persistently showing parts of anything on Kate’s torso. Or was it copied from some heirloom piece worn by air stewardess Momma Carole? Frankly, this red getup made Middleton look like a xylophone-playing escapee from a military marching band, or a Prussian aide-de-camp right out of an old BBC docudrama. It was as though Jackie-O! traveled through time but there was a wrinkle in the space-time continuum, and somehow her outfit got all screwed up.
From Kate’s red Pillbox hat on down, we decided that Catherine Walker had really just better give it up. Then, when the wind flipped Kate’s billowing skirt (does she ever wear any other kind?) up to her waist, she gave the world a pretty good view of what she didn’t have on that day.
Once again, Kate Middleton showed us her lady parts, albeit obscured by the shadows of her freckled thighs.
And without us even asking to see Kate’s nether regions again!
And even after we tried so hard to look away!
And not a chateau terrace nor a French magazine photographer in sight!
Did Kate’s flashing us her lady parts–or undies–or thigh freckles–or whatever she’s got up there in her nether regions as she stepped out into the big land down-under have anything to do with the breaking news of the release of Middleton’s old friend, Emma Sayles’s uhm...memoire of her career as an orgy hostess?
Maybe Kate was just reminiscing of the good old days of her friendship with Emma dating back to their school days at Downe House, or when Middleton joined up with Sayles’s "Sisterhood" charity Dragon Boat rowing group– all prior to Kate bedding and marrying the Prince whom she has transformed into His Boring Buttondowness.
He of the scowling countenance, while his wife presses teensy purses to her crotch in public and grins inanely, mouth agape.
Why does Kate Middleton do this all the time? Is she itchy? Is she needed to discreetly scratch herself?
The British press made a few comparisons between Kate and William’s royal tour and the one undertaken back in 1983 by William’s parents, Prince Charles and Princess Diana, including the iconic photographs of Charles and Diana at Ayers Rock (which has been politically-correctly re-named Uluru). But these glowing comparative accounts were made by journalists who likely were not even born when the radiant, resplendent Waleses lightly descended upon Yulara. While Charles and Diana’s photos at the spot show a serene, quietly elegant married couple seemingly at ease with one another, both gently tanned, relaxed, well-scrubbed, and frankly gorgeous, Kate and William’s Ayers Rock (or Uluru) photos look like someone with an odd sense of humor posed a set of Ken and Barbie dolls in mockery of the Prince and Princess of Wales’ spectacular royal tour. But despite the fawning articles claiming that Kate and William are more in love than ever, and more loving than Charles and Diana ever were, the couple hardly showed any of the affection of their forebears, and certainly evinced not a shred of Charles and Diana’s glamor.
And unfortunately at Ayers Rock, or Uluru, Kate had no matchy-matchy clutch bag to press against her lady parts, so she just went ahead and used her own hand.
Princess Diana carried a sensible shoulder bag on her own visit to Uluru. If Diana ever pressed her crotch in public, it surely wasn’t a regular thing, like it is with Kate Middleton.
Thereafter, Kate periodically treated us to photo displays throughout Australia and New Zealand where she used her hand to press even the crotch of Baby Boy George.
What gives with that, anyway?
Kate even has Prince William doing it, now.
Taking a photo of Willy and Waity? Don’t bother with "Cheese!" or "Smile!" Just say, "Crotch press!"
Where Diana on tour in Australia and New Zealend smiled angelically and wore an amazing panoply of dresses the likes of which we mere mortals had never seen before outside three-hundred or more years’ old portraits in a fine arts museum, including puffy sleeves and outsized, bright-white Van Dyke collars, brought suddenly to life by this stunning blonde ethereal being, Kate’s ensembles revealed her to be a witchy-looking Wallis Simpson lookalike, proving that one really can be too thin despite being too rich. But unlike Wallis Simpson, who was timelessly elegant in her richy-rich way, Kate’s simpering baby-girl dresses and matchy-matchy shoes and that ever-present matchy-matchy clutch bag pressed up against those pantyless lady parts made us just start snoozing in the land of fashionista ennui (when we weren’t cringing and muttering "Euwwww!" under our breath). Still, channeling Wallis is not really about clothing. It’s about coolness and disconnection. It’s about an elevated commoner publicly ridiculing her royal husband’s bald spot.
And then publicly pointing to it.
Pointing, yes. Kate likes to point. She gestures. She gesticulates. She waves her arms and flaps her hands, and sometimes clenches her fingers as though she were about to pounce upon her listener. Sometimes, it is as though she were going to take flight–so frantic are her arms and hands and fingers flapping about.
It’s as though one were watching a dressed-up squirrel.
All that is needed to reincarnate the Duke and Duchess of Windsor in Willy and Waity are the signature Cartier flamingo brooch and the passel of pug dogs, carried about by deferential servants or fawning male friends.
The one big difference is that, where the Duchess of Windsor over-painted her red-red mouth, Kate’s eye makeup, or whatever it is that she smears around her eyes, was so black and banal and thick that it made her eyes simply disappear under a layer of cosmetic goo. Her cheeks are rouged up redder than a carnival Kewpie doll’s. We are assured by the Palace press office that "Catherine the Duchess of Cambridge does her own makeup." Well, who is surprised by that news? And apparently, she is still unable to smile without holding her mouth wide open, in a curious gape.
Pointing, gawking, crotch-pressing, publicly belittling her husband, wearing some Irish granny’s tablecloth, and all but sticking her foot out to trip him from stepping up to a fighter plane.
Is this really the "new" royalty?
And then there were the non-crotch-pressing accessories. Few and far between, blah-blah, and mostly seen before.
Kate’s new (to us, anyway) Cartier "Ballon Bleu" watch was the only accessory that stood out, with its large, oversized sapphire bezel matchy-matching her oversized sapphire engagement ring. It made her wrist look chunky and her hands mannish, and it seems to be a bit large for a lady’s watch. One newspaper claimed that the watch was William’s "romantic" third anniversary present to Kate. It is priced at over $5,000.00, but one wonders whether this Cartier watch, along with that fleet of Land Rovers, is just another freebie perk of being royal.
Will there now be a flood of women buying the Cartier "Ballon Bleu?" Does Cartier allow secretaries and royal wannabees to "buy on time?" Will babies go without milk, and schoolchildren be forced to go without breakfast and vaccinations, while their mothers endeavor to purchase these costly geegaws?
And why spend so much money on things that, frankly, look so "blah blah?"
No timepiece looks less like a Cartier than the "Ballon Bleu."
Just call it the "Ballon Blah."
I guess Cartier won't be giving me a free one now!
Apart from the Queen’s New Zealand diamond brooch, Kate dressed to unimpress. If she once wore a gown or a tiara while on tour, it was kept a national secret. The only tiara in evidence was an aluminum fake on a bewigged pumpkin designed to look like Kate, displayed at a produce show.
Middleton's black Jenny Packham cocktail dress, worn at the unveiling of artist Nick Cuthell’s portrait of Queen Elizabeth II at Government House in Wellington, New Zealand, looked big and baggy and could have easily been purchased at a dowager’s estate sale. Kate barely cracked a smile the whole evening there, her apparent boredom only accentuated by her funereal outfit (which seemed to swallow her up whole, like a dark shadow, or Jason inside his whale). The sole twinkly thing was a bit of blingy embroidery hanging like a fern off Kate’s shoulder, which looked like a nursery night light winking in the night.
The most hyped of Kate’s outfits– a peplummed white Lela Rose cocktail dress with cutout sleeves, looked exactly like the old shower curtain in my first apartment’s bathroom. For a moment, I thought that my cousin Bubba had been armed with a pile of plastic six-pack ring holders and a stapler, and had been challenged to make a dress out of these.. Go, Bubba, go!
Another baby-girl "Broderie Anglaise" frock was obviously stitched up from the Irish granny’s dining table cloth we’ve been talking about. The yellow eyelet cotton day dress last worn in the South Seas made yet another unfortunate appearance; hopefully, it will soon be recycled as a set of Kensington Palace laundry room curtains, or hostess towels. Kate wore it to the Bilby enclosure at the Taronga Zoo, where Baby Boy George, who appeared to be somewhat overfed on the trip, drooled all over it.
And who knew that Tory Burch made a dress for Kate Middleton out of Martha Stewart vintage 1940s black-and–white fringed potholder collection?
A halfway-decent blue-batik Diane Von Furstenberg (“DVF”for those who buy more than one) wrap dress worn by Kate at a "Mountain Youth" abseiling exhibition in Katoomba was denounced by fashion pages as something "your mother would wear to your friend’s wedding." And would your mother accessorize that dress with a pair of cork wedges that make it looks as though she was constantly leaning forward, ready to spring onto something in front of her? Probably not. And would she carry a navy clutch purse and keep it pressed to her crotch throughout the ceremony? Probably not.
But Kate’s navy ensemble of jeans, tight double-breasted blazer from Zara that was wrinkled and looked to be a size too small, and a really unattractive checkered Gap shirt worn in Queenstown to the Amisfield Winery should have been denounced by fashion pages as something "your father would wear to the yacht club he doesn’t belong to."
And we won’t even mention what appeared to be a crocheted long underwear twin set worn by Kate to a "Rippa Rugby" game in Dunedin, New Zealand.
A pale pink Alexander McQueen ensemble by with low v-neck designed to display Kate’s ta-tas whenever she bent over to pat small children on the head would be a nice outfit for a fifty-something bride to wear at her second or third wedding. It was a pale imitation of a beautiful pink two-piece dress that Princess Diana wore while on her honeymoon, with a striking choker of knotted coral beads– the colors of everything brightened by Diana’s glowing skin and shining eyes. If this was the same honeymoon where she screamed at Charles for wearing Camilla’s cufflinks, it’s hard to imagine. Still, this particular pink ensemble made Diana look beautiful, relaxed, innocent and enticing. Then, there was the original, inimitable, and charmingly young pink Belville Sassoon “going away” silk suit and matching tricorn hat Diana wore as her carriage took her from her wedding reception to her honeymoon. And the absolutely most stunning pink look was Diana’s “clashing colors” pink and red Catherine Walker coatdress and matching Philip Sommerville hat she wore in Kuwait in 1989.
In contrast, Kate just looks...dressed.
And don’t forget Amanda Cook Tucker, Kate’s indefatigable hair stylist who traveled along, putting Kate’s hair into those unerring ponytails and "half-up, half-down" looks that cost $10,000.00 for the trip. If you wonder whether $10,000.00 isn’t a lot for someone to "do" your hair into a ponytail, well, then, you just don’t understand what is required to tend to Kate’s hair, which is long and brown and...long and brown.
This measly $10,000.00 for perfect hair at all times to go along with all those "baby girl" dresses is likely more than that paid to chubby George’s new Spanish nanny, who came along when the chattering classes boiled over at the suggestion that Kate’s irrepressible mother, Carole Middleton, would fly along to Australia and New Zealand with her daughter and son-in-law to care for the new baby.
All this fashion blahness made for the most boring royal tour on record.
Meanwhile, "head girl" Emma Sayles’s book claims that, in certain upper class British echelons, clothing and hair styles are simply not needed for high-end get-togethers. Sayles, authoress of "Behind the Mask" (an allusion to her London sex parties where paying guests disguise themselves by wearing masks a la "Eyes Wide Shut"), regales her readers with titillating tales of a Labour Member of Parliament attending her "sextrepeneur" soirees clad only in underpants and a dog collar.
Even famous people are turned away by Sayles if they are too "ugly and old." Fatness is also a disqualifying factor.
"You’ll never get a name out of me" regarding her clientele, past and present, assures Sayles.
Whew! Are the royal couple breathing more easily now?
The irrepressible Sayles, who is now pregnant by her Olympian boyfriend and says that pregnancy won’t stop her from holding pricy orgies since many of her "girl" clients have attended her orgies while pregnant– "some with really big bumps," Sayles assures us.
Whew! And we thought that the British orgy scene would just go straight downhill!
Now that Willy and Waity are back in town, who knows what the next big thing will be?