Queen of Hearts

Thanks to the UK’s Daily Mail, it has come to my attention that today marks the 15th anniversary of Princess Di’s death. 15 years – flown by. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was still in college, trying to graduate and get out of dead end Natchitoches, Louisiana. 1997 had been a really bad year to begin with. Nothing had gone right. By the way, there is one rule  you should always live by: Never ask if things can get worse because they always do. Anyways, I was supposed to meet someone at the local bar that evening. I waited and waited and while I waited some more, I chatted with an old boyfriend and his current girlfriend. That’s how bored I was. So finally I left. On my way back to campus, I saw the guy who stood me up in the parking lot of a pizzeria/pub. I was pissed. I swung in there and confronted him. All he said was that he was sorry and that I looked nice, not in the least bit concerned that I had been waiting for him. I was totally insulted that I had been brushed off by a little redneck from Provencal that looked like a leprechaun. It adds insult to injury when a person you had lowered your standards for totally disregards you. OK, never lower your standards, lesson learned, moving on. I decided the night was pretty much shot so decided to go see if my friend Tommy was at his dorm. Lo and behold, he was there. He was watching the news and the first thing out of his mouth was “Princess Di died tonite”.  I was shocked.  Next, morbid curiosity set in. Had the royal family finally pushed her over the edge and made her take an overdose? Those were my first thoughts after reading countless tabloids and watching her last interview.  Needless to say, me and Tommy spent the rest of the evening watching the barrage of media coverage on the wreckage that had taken her life. I could not believe she was gone. The luminescent Diana’s life had been snuffed out so suddenly. The world was suddenly a much colder place. My heart went out to her 2 boys, the 2 boys she loved more than life itself. That must be the worst part of dying, being seperated from the children that still need you. At least they had their father – cold, aloof Charles. Ever since she married the uncharismatic Prince Charles in 1981, she had lived her life in a fishbowl, totally devoid of any privacy whatsoever. At least in death she finally has it. I had seen the beginning of her fairytale, now I knew how it ended.