Okay, so you know how some people find, like, amazing deals on vintage furniture at flea markets? Or stumble upon a winning lottery ticket tucked into an old coat pocket? Yeah, well, my life took a slightly different, slightly more… royal turn. Let me tell you about the time I accidentally married an abandoned crown prince.
No, seriously. I wasn’t even aiming for royalty. I was just backpacking through… let's call it "Europa-topia." Think Switzerland meets a slightly more enthusiastic Renaissance fair. I was lost, hungry (mostly for decent coffee), and desperately trying to decipher a map older than my grandma when I bumped into him. Literally.
He was sitting on a park bench, looking utterly forlorn, and nursing what appeared to be a lukewarm bottle of something suspiciously resembling cough syrup. He was also, I had to admit, incredibly handsome. Like, Disney-prince-drawn-by-Michelangelo handsome. Except sadder. Much, much sadder. I swear, even his eyebrows looked like they were auditioning for a tragic play.
Anyway, being the hopelessly helpful (and easily charmed) person I am, I offered him my last granola bar. This, apparently, was a huge deal. Turns out, in Europa-topia, offering someone a granola bar is akin to offering them your hand in marriage. I wish I’d known that before I’d crammed half of it into my mouth and offered him the other, slightly chewed, half. Romantic, right?
The Prince, the Pauper, and the Really Confused Tourist
He introduced himself as Prince Theodore. Not *the* Prince Theodore, mind you. Just… Prince Theodore. He’d been, shall we say, "disinherited." Apparently, he'd failed his Royal Charm Exam (I didn’t even know that was a thing) and was deemed unfit to rule. He was, officially, the most charmingly uncharming prince I’d ever met.
His story was… well, it was straight out of a poorly written fairytale. He’d apparently accidentally insulted the visiting Queen of Quinoa (long story), released the Royal Hamster (a national treasure, apparently), and then tried to modernize the Royal Anthem with a techno beat. The last one, I thought, was kinda genius, but apparently the Europa-topians are pretty serious about their tradition.
So, yeah, abandoned prince. No kingdom, no crown, just a park bench and a serious need for a decent cup of coffee. And, apparently, a wife. Because, remember the granola bar?
The wedding itself was… efficient. Let’s just say the Justice of the Peace seemed less than thrilled to be interrupted from his afternoon nap. The vows involved a lot of “Do you promise to…” and Theodore whispering, “Just say yes, please, just say yes.” The ring was a bit of plastic out of a gumball machine. But hey, who am I to judge? It’s not every day you marry a (former) royal.
Life After the Royal Wedding (Sort Of)
So, what’s it like being married to an abandoned crown prince? Honestly, it’s mostly just normal. He’s surprisingly good at doing laundry, makes a mean grilled cheese, and has a surprisingly extensive knowledge of 90s sitcoms. He still occasionally tries to wear his ceremonial robes to the grocery store, but I'm working on that. We are living in my tiny apartment in Chicago right now. It is so small. You can touch the walls if you strech out your arms!
The best part? He’s actually really, really funny. He has a way of making even the most mundane things hilarious. Like the time he tried to parallel park my car and ended up halfway on the sidewalk. Or the time he accidentally ordered 500 rubber ducks online. He's learning. Okay, maybe he is not learning, but at least we can laugh at it together.
Of course, there are some challenges. His former courtiers occasionally show up at my doorstep, demanding he return to Europa-topia and apologize to the Royal Hamster. And his mom, the Queen, keeps sending me passive-aggressive emails about my "lack of royal etiquette." Apparently, wearing sweatpants to a coronation (which hasn’t happened yet, but she's planning ahead) is frowned upon. Who knew?
Happily Ever After? (Maybe)
So, am I living a fairytale? Nah. It’s messier, funnier, and way more real than any fairytale I’ve ever read. I didn't marry a king; I married a guy. A guy who happens to have a title he can't use, a penchant for rubber ducks, and a surprisingly good sense of humor.
And you know what? I wouldn't trade him for anything. Even if it meant I had to give up my granola bar. (Okay, maybe I would trade a *slightly* stale granola bar.) But the point is, life is unexpected, hilarious, and sometimes, just sometimes, it leads you to marry an abandoned crown prince. And that, my friends, is a story worth telling over coffee. Or maybe a lukewarm bottle of… whatever that cough syrup thing was.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go hide Theodore's ceremonial robes before he tries to wear them to the grocery store again. Wish me luck!
