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Caught red-handed

The other day, the husband caught me red-handed. We were at the drug store. We were there to pick up some shampoo, some batteries, some laundry detergent and some paper towels. I found something else.
Barbara Gunn
Barbara Gunn

The other day, the husband caught me red-handed.

We were at the drug store. We were there to pick up some shampoo, some batteries, some laundry detergent and some paper towels.

I found something else.

"Well, well, well," said the husband, approaching me from behind. "What do we have here? Is that a magazine about Harry and Meghan you have in your hands?"

I quickly placed it back in the rack. I wasn't interested in the slightest, I told him. I'd been waiting for him to fetch the batteries and the thing had just jumped out at me. What else was I to have done, for crying out loud? Just stand there, looking silly?

"So you're not at all interested in the royal wedding?" asked the husband.

"No," I said. "Not in the slightest."

OK. So I do know that it's taking place on May 19, and that the service starts at noon. I do know that the nuptials will be held in St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle and that Prince George and Princess Charlotte will take part in the ceremony, and that after it's over, the royals will take a carriage ride through Windsor Town.

That doesn't mean I'm following it, or anything.

The husband's not convinced.

A couple of weeks ago, he wandered into the TV room, where a special on the royal romance was airing.

"Well, well, well," said the husband. "Who can't get enough of these two?"

"Will you stop it?" I said. "I was just surfing channels, and you happened to arrive when Meghan was on the screen. It wasn't like I was planning to stay here. I was looking, oh, for a food channel that might give me new ideas for mac and cheese."

The husband nodded.

"Sure you weren't looking for something on crumpets and tea?" he asked. "Or maybe bangers and mash?"

"You're being silly again," I told him.

"But didn't you tell me you know where the reception is?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. "It's at St. George's Hall after the carriage ride. And then Prince Charles is hosting a private evening reception."

"But you're not interested?" the husband said.

"No," I said. "Not in the slightest."

Well, maybe, just maybe a little. I may just tune in for a bit of the day. Doesn't make me a fan of the royals.