August 31, 2007


Of Birthdays and Dead Princesses

Here's my Princess Diana moment: on my youngest son's third birthday, I opened the front door to grab the Sunday paper. Blazed across the cover was the tackiest headline I have yet to read: DI DEAD

Yup. My baby turns 13 today. I never bought another Sun (forgive me: I used to do all the crosswords every Sunday), but I remember being shocked that the woman was dead. Not really affected, but shocked. I never quite got the whole Diana thing, probably because I thought she was a fairly ordinary woman thrust into a difficult role, and I'd long since tired of the whining. She knew what she'd signed up for; if you find it's not to your liking, make a classy exit and shut up. She was a pouter, and I hate pouters.

I once had an acquaintance who would serve these odd cheeseball things at parties. It was essentially a big ball of not-great cheese formed into a baseball, then rolled in something. It was actually pretty gross, but everyone would stand around and exclaim that it was awesome. It wasn't. It tasted like Kraft singles melded together. I'd look around and wonder what I was missing.

Diana Spencer was my cheeseball. I always wondered what I was missing. She was beautiful, she worked the press like a puppetmaster, and I do believe she actually gave a damn about the causes she lent her name to. She adored her kids. But the supernova/change the world stuff? I don't think so. I think Diana was mostly about Diana.

CBC is running ads about 'was there a conspiracy?' and I just sigh. She was killed by a drunk driver. She wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Haven't the players milked enough out of this already? Ten years on, publications are still parsing her evey word for deeper meaning. Guess what, guys. There isn't any. Sometimes a cheeseball is just a cheeseball.

1 Comments:

Blogger Ernie Schramayr said...

Hey Lorraine, your posts are awesome! I can totally relate. Here is my Di Dead moment. I was training a police recruit the sunday morning after Diana was killed (we were at a wedding and didn't hear the news the night before). I was dragging the recruit around the track for the umpteenth time when he stopped, put his hands on his knees and....barfed (I know it doesn't surprise you). He wiped his mouth looked up at me and said, "Hey did you hear that Princess Diana was killed last night?". Nice, eh? I guess that is my Kennedy moment.

p.s.: Next week, your mine! :)

August 31, 2007 8:55 PM  

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