Royally Jealous

I confess that I found myself sitting in front of the live feed from outside St. Mary's Hospital on the morning of July 23. To excuse it away with a mere "I just happened to be sitting in front of my computer" would be disingenuous. I had to click on a link and keep returning to see if those two London cops had found anything interesting to do aside from just stand there and pretend that a planet full of webcam gawkers were staring at them. Just across the street, of course, was an army of press: photographers from across the globe anxious to get any possible sign of the child who was to be born at any moment.
Not just any baby, of course. This was the Royal Baby. The prince or princess who would someday be crowned and rule over the entire British Empire. Well, "rule" may be a little strong. "experience photo-ops across" would be more to the point. So what's all the fuss? It's another child being brought into the world. Does the fact that this child's mother is the Duchess of Cambridge make this event any more significant than that of the boy and girl born in Jamestown, North Dakota? All signs point to the baby boy born in London growing up to be right-wise King of England, but it's possible that one of those kids from Jamestown could grow up to be President of the United States. Where was the media coverage for the birth of the next leader of the free world?
Okay. Maybe that's a stretch. As yet, North Dakota has not produced a President. A Police Woman and an accordion player, yes, but no chief executives.   Meanwhile, back at the Windsor house, er, castle, they've pretty much had the monarchy all sewn up for a few hundred years. As long as you can stick with the program and not date anyone outside your social standing, you get to hang out with all the cool people and give knighthoods to rock stars. The odds of one of those Jamestown kids getting to hang out in the Rose Garden with Justin Bieber or The New York Giants are pretty slim. That may have something to do with the limited press exposure of those children who had the coincidental good fortune to share a birthday with the heir to the throne.
I share their pain. For the past thirty-one years, all the attention I might have received on my birthday has been has been swallowed up by Prince William. While I confess that having unfettered access to cricket pitches across the British Isles would be a nice perk, I'll leave the balcony waving to those best suited.