While balancing a new fuzzy crown on her head, Queen Camilla (yes, she's a queen! Can you believe it? Is this a joke? Oh, it's not... it's real? Oh my goodness... there are only a few Pythons left alive!) asked if she had to take it home.
"The castle is your home now, ma'am," a royal aide explained.
"But what about me apartment where’s I used to tampon up Charlie?" Camilla inquired.
The aide replied, "Shhhhh, Your Majesty, you can't talk like that in the public realm."
"Wass a realm? Is that me toddy?" The only slightly squiffy Camilla asked. "Oo, I fudged me knickers again. Charlie, you’s done wiv all that pomp and dump yet? Coronation’s coming on!"
The helmet... I mean, crown, will not accompany the 'Queen' wherever she goes. Instead, it will be securely locked away to prevent any sticky jammy fingers from touching it. Currently, it's at the dry cleaner, and Mr. Chang mentioned that there might be an additional charge to remove certain stains.
"So much fur! Why fur and gold?" Mr. Chang questioned with bewilderment. "You people playing chess? Is this some kind of game? What? It's real? Holy cow!"
The dry cleaner was quickly ushered from the castle as the Queen grabbed the remote control from her butler's gloved paw, then scooched her chair closer to the television while calling for Charlie to bring her "telly-watching specs".
Ah, every married couple is so alike after the wedding and honeymoon... Did they have a honeymoon, or is this it?
"Can we fill the crown with a hot bath and Epsom salts for my bunions?" Camilla pondered.
Presenting the Queen of Engulund, ladies and Charlies. Gawd bless 'er.
