American Princess No More.

Somewhere, an American girl takes off her rhinestone tiara and weeps. Prince William has just announced to the entire world that he and his long time girlfriend, Kate Middleton are betrothed.

I couldn't get my skin to match Kate's so I added a turtleneck to the photo. I'm okay with it.

“But we were planning our engagement announcement, our future, our corgis names!” I wail to my mom. She doesn’t respond. Typical. She’s too busy clipping out the USA Today article featuring the happy couple to notice my pain. She’ll add it to her scrapbook she keeps of the British royal family, a hobby she’s had since before I was born.

Some scrapbook pages

If anything, she’s to blame for my current heartbreak. She’s the one who passed along her fixation of all things British and royal to me. With all the issues of Majesty magazine lying around, it’s no wonder I set my tween heart on the sandy-haired blue-eyed pup second in line to England’s throne, Prince William. Majesty magazine became my Teen Beat and I spent many Saturday afternoons flipping through the glossy shots of William, trying to decide which one I would tape to my bedroom wall. I read that Diana did this with a photo of Charles so I thought it prudent of me to do the same with William. Each month a new photo of William went on my wall: William with his mom, William playing rugby, William arriving at Eton, his boarding school in England. Every night I gazed upon those photos pondering the very serious hurdles in our love affair… my status as a commoner, the Atlantic ocean. Yet instead of being discouraged by the unlikelihood of us ever meeting and falling in love, I found myself invigorated by these setbacks, taking whatever small coincidence that occurred as a sign direct from God (whom the Royal Family has on speed dial, don’cha ya know?) that we were soul mates.

This is a quote, written in pink ink, from my fourth grade diary.

Guess where I’m going tomorrow?!?! EPCOT!!!!!! I’m sooooo exciiiiited!! And guess who was just there just last week. Prince William!!! He’s a boy I have a crush on right now. Maybe I’ll sit in the same seat he did! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

It didn’t matter that William and I weren’t at Epcot at the same time. Or that we missed each other by only a week. My fantasy of becoming Mrs. Windsor was kept alive because we lived on a planet where we could miss each other at an Orlando theme park by only a week. I was ten years old and already had a (sort of) missed connection with a Prince! What will happen when I’m older, armed with a passport and a license to steal hearts?

Here’s what.

St. Andrews, Scotland is a really small town. I found this out when I went there to participate in a theater internship at the Byre Theater. I was 19 years old and on foreign soil for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing. As an example of my naiveté, I brought three bags of extremely stylish and impractical clothing, which I regretted immediately after trying to climb up the stairs of the London Underground. Seriously guys, pack less is on Rick Steves list of travel tips for a reason.

Coincidentally, Prince William was now a student at St. Andrews University. Imagine that!

I sure did.

While waiting the 2 weeks before the theater opened for the season, I figured I’d get a job working at a restaurant. Gotta fund this six month trip somehow.

I ended up working at a real deal fancy restaurant. This restaurant had things like a reservation system, silver spoon service and a second floor. I’m not sure why they hired me since my only serving experience was at a casual chain restaurant in small town, Florida but soon enough, I found myself trying to wrestle two silver spoons into scooping a dinner roll from a bread basket with iron rose embellishments.

“You almost had it that time,” said my patient guest.

It was all I could do to keep from reaching my grubby American hand into the basket and throw the bread on his plate. “Yes. Almost,” I said, without any of the perky inflection my accent carries.

After our shift, the servers would gather for a family meal. This is where I discovered I was working at Prince William’s favorite restaurant.

“Which one is he again?” I asked, trying to play it cool. I couldn’t believe this latest coincidence! I managed to get a job at Prince William’s favorite restaurant?! Oh, if my ten year old self could see me now! Actually, she could since I’m still her just older… so, uh, yeah. Anyway.

Could this be how it all happens? Am I about to find my face splashed across the front of the Daily Mail as William’s new American girlfriend? Do I want an autumn or spring wedding? What’s my shopping allowance once we get married? And most importantly, is Zara Phillips about to become my new best friend? Because I need to take horseback riding lessons if she is.

It didn’t take long for me to hate my new job. I dropped and broke wine glasses almost every night. Appetizers never made it to the table. Sweat broke on my brow from running up and down the stairs. According to my manager, the new war in Iraq was my fault. He told me this during a sit down meeting we had about my work performance. He meant it as a joke but I was too busy planning my escape from St. Andrews to pretend to laugh.

“Why don’t you take a lunch break, think about this and come back at four. We won’t have another shift like we had this morning, will we?”

“Nope!” We won’t have another shift together at all, actually.

During my break, I walked back to the hostel where I was temporarily living and did some deep movie style thinking. The novelty of being abroad and living in St. Andrews had worn off. There were several reasons why: my job, my inability to find a permanent address, my general disinterest in the St. Andrews golfing scene. Plus, the theater wasn’t returning my calls and I was supposed to start my internship two days ago. It was clear the universe was telling me my time in St. Andrews was over.

But wait!! What about your true love Prince William?

Ugh. What about him? He’s the one who was playing hard to get by never eating at his favorite restaurant and wearing an invisibility cloak around town. So. Over. Him.*

I never returned to the restaurant. Instead, I left St. Andrews that night on a one way train ticket to Edinburgh. It was a dramatic way to exit, packing my bags in the middle of the afternoon and telling no one, but that was how it had to be. I arrived in Edinburgh and finally met the real love of my life, (insert any man wearing a kilt here).

*But not really.

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