When Prince William married Catherine Middleton at Westminster Abbey in 2011, I threw a party. A gaggle of gal-pals and I gathered to ogle at Pippa Middleton’s impossibly perky derrière, admire Kate’s lovely lace bodicework and play “guess every bloom” in her elegant, understated bouquet. (For the record, she carried sprigs of lily-of-the-valley, sweet William, hyacinths, ivy and myrtle, which, in the Victorian language of flowers, respectively stand for happiness, gallantry, constancy, fidelity and enduring love.)
By the time the newly-wed Duke and Duchess of Cambridge shared their first kiss on the balcony at Buckingham Palace, we’d downed too many mojito mocktails and eaten our fill of vanilla cupcakes with pale-blue buttercream icing, for the royal wedding just happened to coincide with my eldest son’s baby shower.
This month, when…
