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Prince George: “Mum, is it true that I’m named for George V, King of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, Emperor of India?”
Kate: “You’d think so, but no. A secondary character in a very popular children’s book.”
Prince George: “And Dad? Was he—”
Kate: “To be honest, it’s only the ‘longer version of Bill.’”
Prince George: “I s’pose I shouldn’t even ask about cousin ranger, then?”
is a word I learned from my dad when I was young and had just finished reading Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle In Time.
I told him I had been absolutely transported by the story and now felt abandoned by it, that it seemed wholly unfair. The feeling I could most closely compare it to was the nauseating stillness left when the engine of a car shuts off, which I’m not certain is entirely relatable.
Because I was a difficult child I’d been ferried often to and from offices of people who claimed some knowledge of how to deal with children like me.
Are you the Chamber of Secrets? Because I’d probably need to use my tongue skillfully to get inside you.
Am I the Whomping Willow? Because when you get near me I flail around and endanger lives.
Are you Peter Pettigrew? Because if I found out you’d been living in my room my whole life I’d get over it pretty quickly.
Are you the flying Ford Anglia? Because even if you’d been living in the woods for months I’d still want to get inside you.
Are you a portkey? Because when we touch I feel transported. And then a bit sick.
Are you the Elder Wand? Because I feel like if I kill your boyfriend you’ll end up with me.
Are you Hogwarts? Because your inner workings confuse the shit out of me.
Are you a Boggart? Because when I look at you, I think of commitment.
Are you Hermione Granger? Because I think about you sexually a lot.
Here’s another song of mine about love. Well, it’s about me stalking Emma Watson, but love means different things to everyone, right?
Flattering and unnerving.