Imagine our surprise when this arrived in the mail last week:
Not because it wasn’t expected, but because it was a tad bit late! How were we to find the perfect getup for Farmer, that of course wouldn’t outshine the bride, but that still represented us in an acceptable manner? We combed the boutiques far and near and settled on a snazzy little number so Farmer would do us proud. It’s extremely ladylike, without verging on prissy- and perfect for a morning wedding:
We’ve been burdened by the considerable task of coaching her on royal etiquette. Every time we think she’s nailed the bow, she slumps down in a heap and begins to snore. And then just try to tell her it’s not acceptable to touch a member of the royal family. She wiggles at and jumps up on simply everyone she meets. Talk about royal embarrassment!
Christian’s especially gotten into training her in diction, and she’s enunciating much better. Although he’s become quite fond of slipping into a British accent and throwing around the phrase, “wibble wobble”. Not to mention the nonstop sexual innuendos in reference to the Queen and Buckingham Palace.
In the end, I suppose we’ll simply have to trust in her good judgment. After all, her nuanced upbringing scored her that invite to begin with. We can only hope she remembers to smuggle out plenty of souvenirs from the big day under her hat.