The Wedding

Much has been written about Mary and Frederik’s wedding – how touching that he was crying at the altar, how . . . well, that’s about it, because Frederik was the only one that showed emotion that day.

Mary, already determined to be the Perfect Princess, was a mask of arrogance and self-centeredness throughout. Part of the mask, granted, was the makeup that had been applied with boxing gloves, especially that blush, but Mary’s nose was already used to its new living conditions, about 3 inches higher than it had ever been.


To be fair, if my dress were as badly fitting as Mary’s, I might also want to stick my nose in the air so as not to see how thick and masculine my shoulders looked in the neckline that seemed to hover away from Mary, as though the fabric couldn’t stand to be up against that bogan smell and decided it would stand back from her as much as it could. I would also stick my nose in the air so as not to be constantly looking for the panels of 100-year-old lace that couldn’t be found between the heavy folds of fabric.

And also, there was the problem of the tiara and fake bun. The tiara was so utterly pathetic and ridiculously small for a Crown Princess that it could barely be seen against the veil. The veil was mounted on a huge bun that made Mary look like she’d taken all the weight she’d lost since the engagement and bundled it up under there. Badly placed, badly coiffed, and badly dressed, Mary and her 2 lbs. of makeup had to spend the ceremony and reception pretending everything was fine, and she looked for the camera, not wanting them to miss a single angle of her upturned nose.


How awful is it when your own best friend is looking at you like she'd gladly put one through your forehead at your own wedding? Then again, by this point, Mary had already been a royal bitch to her attendants, hissing at them to get her the bouquet STAT! and making nasty little hand motions.

I don’t know who chose or designed the ugly bridesmaid outfits and hairdos but man, I would have held a burning party afterwards. But Amber, being of the same fame whore caliber as Mary, has been known to prance around z-list celebrity events with the frock on.


It didn't help matters that Mary's dad, John Donaldson, was flashing his balls at anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting across from him.


Maybe he did it as payback for her bitchy little stare as they got ready to enter the church. Yes, Mary is already thinking she's better than her own daddy at this point. What a loving daughter!

And the worst part for Mary and her legion of fangirls?


Letizia Ortiz Rocasolano, a week before her own royal wedding to Spain's Prince of Asturias, steals the show from Mary with a stunning red gown, fabulous hairstyle, and gorgeous jewelry. Take that, Princess Milkmaid! To this day, none of the bitches in the Mary-worship boards can forgive Letizia for stealing the show, and they are quick to say how awful she looks or how ugly she is with no provocation. Jealous much, bitches? Well, guess what, Letizia had a real career, she was an award-winning journalist, and Mary was and is a piece of trash who will never be as high as mighty as she is in her own head. Nyah.


I leave you with two images of what Mary was all about in her special day.

She was all about waving, because even though she had the gown and tiara on, she couldn't very well risk losing anyone's attention.


And she pursed her lips, posing every second of a day that is supposed to be about joy and emotion, and for the new Crown Princess of Denmark, was about neither, for her it was only about coldhearted triumph and arrogance.