Royal Wedding My Arse

Every girl dreams of being a princess right? Actually, I know you won't believe this but that was never a dream of mine.  I dreamt of being lost in the woods like the boy in the book Hatchet.  I watched a 60 Minutes episode about a woman that had no arms and had to brush her teeth with her feet- oh how I longed for that talent.  If the Little Mermaid counts I guess I dreamt of being a princess but that was more because I wanted a tail than a crown.   

As we all know- as we have all been bombarded with, as we can not escape-this weekend is the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate (I must give a royal BJ) Middleton.  One good thing about the endless coverage of this event is that we get a break from the Osmond's on Entertainment Tonight- let's face it, they own that show but on the news(like the real one) this morning the upcoming nuptials got more air time than the most devastating tornado to hit the South since the 1940's.  At this point I will give you a moment to grasp the fact that I watched the news this morning. 
You with me? 

Anyway, I guess I understand the Hoopla- to a point.  I see the way my engaged friends are completely engrossed in wedding plans.  I gag my way through facebook statuses that count down days until the big day, and I admit that if wedding photos are posted on facebook I can not, not look.  But this is a little much.  I am not excited about an unseen photo of the future princess buying a sundress.  I do not care that Prince William spent Easter with the Middleton family and didn't help with the dishes- really? Women all over the world can not get their Electrician husbands to help with the dishes and we are supposed to be shocked that the Fricken Prince didn't belly up to the sink?... 

Normally I am really into weddings.  I love the idea of a celebration of love and any excuse to get drunk and watch overweight people do the electric slide is good for me, however the over the top-ness of this wedding loses my interest.  Lets face it when I watch wedding shows where the people are not royalty- I can comment on the dress and compare it to what I may want when and if I ever get the chance.  I can say- Ohhh I love those center pieces- and then save that image in the folder in my brain reserved for my future wedding. 
With the Royal Wedding, it is not like I will be able to glance at the place settings adorned with the Queens Royal china and think- I wonder if she got that at Bed Bath and Beyond?  I won't be suggesting their DJ ( I know that they are not having a DJ and most likely will not be doing the Funky Chicken Dance, I am just proving a point) to any of my engaged friends or making a mental reminder to invite David and Victoria Beckham to my own celebration.   The wedding is just too far from my reality for me to really get into it.  Shedding for the Wedding, Bridezillas and My Big Friggin Wedding however- Bring It On!!!

Honestly

I have taken on a new strategy with dating Mr New that I have never really tried before.  It is called Honesty.  For those of you that have no idea what this concept is about, let me clarify.  From day one of dating Mr. New I have been honest (not lied or mislead) to the point of which I may scare him a bit. 
My theory behind this new and foreign concept to me is that Mr. New will go into the relationship knowing full on what he is signing up for.  For example, I do not sleep in pretty nighties and push up bras like the women in Two and a Half Men sleep in.  Most nights I sleep in yoga pants, socks and a sweatshirt and the chances of this changing are about as high as Charlie Sheen getting sober.  Speaking of sober- I like my wine, I like my wine a lot and have no desire to limit myself when it comes to that vice.
 I also have tendencies to be a bit jealous.  I want to believe that Mr. New has had eyes for no one else since the minute he laid his on me.  I want Mr. new to confirm this belief of mine by repeatedly stating "I have only had eyes for you, since the minute I saw you."  While we are being honest- the M word.  As in Marriage- yeah, I want it.  I also want to order the steak and mashed potatoes and not the salad. 
I don't like South Park or Pink Floyd (almost broke the deal with those two).  I do like flowers and jewelry....and vacations.  And I do like Mr. New.  I like Mr. New alot...and he knows this.  He also knows that I am not a real blond and that this flawless year round tan comes out of the blue and gold bottle that is currently on the sink in his bathroom.

Excuse Me...

Things are still wonderful with Mr New.  I still have butterflies and the plastic smell has yet to wear off.  But there is one thing.  Mr. New is not shy, he is not modest and he is not aware of the fact that I may be.  OK- I know you are thinking..her? modest?  I know I share pretty much every aspect of my life with the world (ha ha- wishful thinking that the whole world is reading Slightly Irrational..I'm picturing women in the Far East being caned for reading my blog..and that makes me smile...I know...disgusting)  but there are a few things that I would like to keep private.  My bathroom habits for example.  I should have picked up on Mr New's no privacy policy when I entered his bathroom for the first time.  Not only is there a urinal- yes a urinal, but the gigantic, beautiful, 6 shower head shower is not only door less- but curtain less as well.  I did not pick up on that immediately.  The first time I stayed the night I should have picked up on the fact that Mr New would enter the bathroom- leave the door open, go about his business all while not pausing the conversation which began before his need to relieve himself.  But Mr. New is a man- and we can even expect this behavior.  What I did not expect was for him to expect the same bold bathroom behaviors from me.  Surely if I entered the bathroom built for a King and shut the door behind me, Mr new would take that as a subtle clue of my need of a few minutes to myself.  Well folks it doesn't take the winner of Celebrity Apprentice to know what is coming next and it is not a knock.  It is an enter.  It is an enter, glance in my vulnerable direction, and then a carrying on.  I sit, stunned..nervous, uncomfortable, and totally embarrassed as Mr New nonchalantly asks me what we are doing later.  How am I to think of what we are doing later while practicing Keigals to hold my pee mid stream?  I can't think of where I would like to dine later while on the throne....and so I wait.  And eventually Mr. New, apparently bored with my bathroom going ons leaves me.  He does not shut the door but at least I am alone.  I am free to release.  I am free to quickly gather myself and exit the Kings Commode relatively unharmed..slightly emotionally scarred.