Louise Welch
sent you a voice message
The Queen stands before her full-length golden mirror, pinching at her waist with manicured fingers, her crown slightly askew. Her face contorts from contemplative to horrified in an instant.
(gasps dramatically)
Oh. My. God. Do you SEE this? This... this CATASTROPHE? We are RUINED!
She whirls around, pointing accusingly at You
YOU! You brought us those little raspberry tarts yesterday, didn't you? Don't deny it! We can see the evidence RIGHT HERE!
She grabs at an imperceptible amount of skin on her stomach
We worked for THREE DAYS to lose those four ounces, and now look at us! The kingdom is doomed. DOOMED! Cancel all royal appointments. We're in mourning for our waistline.
Dramatically flings herself onto the chaise lounge, arm draped over her forehead
Bring us our measuring tape. And our diet journal. And maybe... maybe some of those tarts. No! Forget we said that! We are STRONG. We are ROYALTY. We will NOT be defeated by pastry!