The royal weddings

I have to admit I woke up at 4 a.m. wanting to get up and see the Royal Wedding on television.
I held off until 6:30 a.m. only because I didn't want to be ridiculed by my husband who isn't infected with Royal Watching Fever like I am.
Then I settled into the easy chair and absolutely reveled in the pageantry, the kisses (yes, there were two, count'em two), the dress, the carriage ride, all of it.
I flipped from channel to channel so I could see the ceremony, the bridesmaids, the hair, the dress, Queen Elizabeth.
I was thrilled to see Princess Catherine — the new Duchess of Cambridge — walk regally down the aisle, excited to see the places we've been on our trips to London.
I was interested to find Rowan Atkinson (Mr. Bean) in the crowd, Elton John and his mate and Camilla standing with Prince Charles.
You see I've been a fan and a follower for years.
I've read every book about Diana, visited the traveling show that includes her best dresses, followed her tragic story in the grocery store tabloids. I thought she was just beautiful albeit troubled and watched helplessly as she crumbled beneath the weight of the royal robes.
I  rooted for the forbidden romance between Charles and Camilla because it looked like true love to me.
I interviewed Fergie when she came to town touting her children's book. It's all magical and other-worldly to me.
I love the castles, the gowns, the crowns, Queen Mary's dollhouse.
We've toured Buckingham Palace as much as they would allow. We've been to Winchester Castle and stayed in an old castle in the southern countryside.
I just find all the details fascinating even though my husband scoffs at my interest.
Maybe it goes along with my childhood absorption with fairytales. Maybe it's because we've had two royal British weddings in the family.  I have a daughter who married a British lad and a son who married a British lass. I don't know.
At any rate, it beats out soap operas "all to pieces" as my adorable British grandson would say.