Her personal secretary's hands shook as she showed the ecru envelope to the hot-tempered Queen of Hearts. "That looks like an invitation," said the Queen, raising her thinly- pencilled eyebrows. "Do you know what it is"?
"I do," Your Majesty, "the secretary said in a trembling voice. "Open it, you stupid woman, and read it to me," the illiterate Queen glowered from her private quarters in the palace.
"The Duke and Duchess of Sussex invite you to the christening of their daughter Lilibet Diana at their home at 2 p.m July 20 in Santa Barbara, California. Transportation will be arranged. Please R.S.V.P.
Sitting on a sofa the queen was a colorful decoration, looking like a portrait in her multicolored Victorian jacket. Typical of that period in England, the jacket had puffy sleeves and raised shoulders.
Her Majesty's red hair, piled high on her head and brushed away from her face, flattered her made up face but couldn't hide her horridness.
"Of course, they want me there," said the Queen. "They surround themselves with famous people. I've been famous for decades for my 'Off with their heads' execution orders. Send my acceptance, and get out of my private quarters immediately," she said. "And take my tea with you. It tastes like someone emptied the sugar bowl in it."
The stiff, square Queen, who had been placed on the sofa, began her plans. "My hair stylist must go with me," she thought, "even though the hairspray smells worse than dead meat in the smokehouse.
"My makeup artist must travel with me, too. She paints my lips into a red heart, lines my eyes and eyebrows, pencils a beauty mark below one of my eyes, and shadows my eyelids blue.
"Then I'll tell the dressmakers to sew an outfit
for me to wear to this historical event. If they make one single mistake, I'll say, 'Off with their heads.' Who cares about their lives"?
The Queen spent most days on the velvet sofa flanked by two pillows. The cozy look lured new servants to rest against the Queen's square stuffed body, and adjacent pillows. "Get off of me, you ignorant fool," she screamed. "Don't you know I'm the Queen of Hearts, and you are my servants The nerve of you," she said, golden sparks flashing from her small, brown eyes.
A week later, the secretary rushed in with another ecru envelope, catching her breath. "Open it, and read it, you simple woman," shrieked the Queen. Her uniformed bodyguard covered his ears with his white-gloved hands, knowing what was about to happen.
"The letter says you can't go to the christening," said the secretary. "How dare they,"
the Queen snarled, poking her upturned nose into the air. "Is it because I am the Queen of Heart and my husband rules The House of Playing Cards and not the House of Windsor?"
"No, Your Majesty," she said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "It's because you are a silly little decorative pillow."
"I do," Your Majesty, "the secretary said in a trembling voice. "Open it, you stupid woman, and read it to me," the illiterate Queen glowered from her private quarters in the palace.
"The Duke and Duchess of Sussex invite you to the christening of their daughter Lilibet Diana at their home at 2 p.m July 20 in Santa Barbara, California. Transportation will be arranged. Please R.S.V.P.
Sitting on a sofa the queen was a colorful decoration, looking like a portrait in her multicolored Victorian jacket. Typical of that period in England, the jacket had puffy sleeves and raised shoulders.
Her Majesty's red hair, piled high on her head and brushed away from her face, flattered her made up face but couldn't hide her horridness.
"Of course, they want me there," said the Queen. "They surround themselves with famous people. I've been famous for decades for my 'Off with their heads' execution orders. Send my acceptance, and get out of my private quarters immediately," she said. "And take my tea with you. It tastes like someone emptied the sugar bowl in it."
The stiff, square Queen, who had been placed on the sofa, began her plans. "My hair stylist must go with me," she thought, "even though the hairspray smells worse than dead meat in the smokehouse.
"My makeup artist must travel with me, too. She paints my lips into a red heart, lines my eyes and eyebrows, pencils a beauty mark below one of my eyes, and shadows my eyelids blue.
"Then I'll tell the dressmakers to sew an outfit
for me to wear to this historical event. If they make one single mistake, I'll say, 'Off with their heads.' Who cares about their lives"?
The Queen spent most days on the velvet sofa flanked by two pillows. The cozy look lured new servants to rest against the Queen's square stuffed body, and adjacent pillows. "Get off of me, you ignorant fool," she screamed. "Don't you know I'm the Queen of Hearts, and you are my servants The nerve of you," she said, golden sparks flashing from her small, brown eyes.
A week later, the secretary rushed in with another ecru envelope, catching her breath. "Open it, and read it, you simple woman," shrieked the Queen. Her uniformed bodyguard covered his ears with his white-gloved hands, knowing what was about to happen.
"The letter says you can't go to the christening," said the secretary. "How dare they,"
the Queen snarled, poking her upturned nose into the air. "Is it because I am the Queen of Heart and my husband rules The House of Playing Cards and not the House of Windsor?"
"No, Your Majesty," she said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "It's because you are a silly little decorative pillow."
