by Larry Floersch
Okay. I’ve seen all those photos of the royal children, Prince George and Princess Charlotte of Cambridge. And they would be adorable children if they were real. But they are not. I know this because all children in that age range have one feature in common that the designers of these audioanimatronic robots forgot: Snot candles!
Now I know what you’re thinking. “But Lare, these kids are royals. They are not like normal kids. They have nannies and governesses just beyond the cameras, and those nannies and governesses have hundreds of boxes of Kleenex at their disposal, just waiting, like the ball boys and ball girls at Wimbledon, to swoop in and wipe away those snot candles in a flash.”
But you’d be wrong, because I’ve had experience with the phenomenon of snot candles in toddlers, and I know it takes those candles less than 2.5 seconds to regrow after a nose wipe. Even using one of those snot-sucking aspirator bulbs doesn’t slow down the regrowth of the candles. And don’t even talk to me about the apparatus in which you insert the business end into the child’s nose and suck on a clear plastic hose with your mouth to pull the mucus into a reservoir. You wouldn’t catch me using one of those things unless that clear plastic hose was as long as the Trans-Alaska pipeline. No-sir-ee!
Another thing that is missing on these supposed royal children is a multitude of Mickey Mouse or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Band-Aids. Are you going to tell me these kids do not get bruises, bumps, and scrapes just because they are royals? To that I say, with my best British accent, “Shuttlecock!” They do not get bruises and scrapes because their robotic skin is some sort of mixture of high-tech polymers and polytetrafluoroethylene. Not only does it resist damage, but Band-Aids do not stick to it. That’s not true of real kids. When he was little, my son once wore the same Band-Aid on his boo-boo for three years.
If Princess Charlotte were a real toddler like my granddaughter, she would leave behind her a trail of Cheetos and Goldfish crackers, kind of like the breadcrumbs of Hansel and Gretel. The cushions in the royal carriages would resemble the back seat of my car, where the crumbs of these crackers have become an orange paste after being mixed with droplets of water from a constantly inverted sippy cup—a sippy cup that, along with an indescribable stuffed animal, never leaves my granddaughter’s side. But there is no evidence, in the form of orange paste, actual crackers, or an orange residue around her lips or on her dress, to suggest that Princess Charlotte consumes such delights, much less SpaghettiOs or buttered noodles. And there is nary a sippy cup or grungy stuffed animal to be seen in the photos of her.
And just look at Princess Charlotte’s feet. She always has on socks and shoes! And the shoes match! And they are on the right feet!
No, I say, these are not real children!
Even the Queen herself provides evidence of this elaborate subterfuge. Sure, the George and Charlotte robots have been programmed to amuse the Queen by calling her ”Gan-Gan” with cute electronic voices, but take a moment to examine photographs of the Queen when her great grandchildren are present. Do you ever see any vomit or chocolate stains—or snail tracks—on the lapels of her impeccably tailored pastel suits? No! Obviously these “children,” being robots, are too heavy to sit on their great grandmother’s lap and wipe their faces on her clothing.
I do not mean to imply that Prince William and Princess Kate do not have any children. I am sure the real Prince George and Princess Charlotte, after their initial debut in swaddling clothes, were spirited away to Balmoral or some other royal hiding place in Scotland to be raised in secret, away from the cameras and the public eye, so as to save the royal family the embarrassment of appearing less than regal. And some day in the future, after they have outgrown the snot candles, poopy nappies, and SpaghettiOs faces, the buttons under the wigs on their robotic stand-ins will be pushed to “off,” and the real children will take their place in royal society.
And as far as that new little brother, I just read they named him Louis. I had really hoped they would name him Uther, after Uther Pendragon, the legendary father of King Arthur, just to give the family a less-polished, less-hygienic, fifth-century edge. Given the cold, dirty, damp living conditions in those days, the real Uther probably had snot candles as an adult.
God Save Gan-Gan!