"Who is that lady?" "That's no lady. That's my wife."

I have a secret for you, and you can't tell anybody-especially not any of my dear old relatives who live in Scotland or Ireland. Okay, here it is. I love the Queen. I do. I think she is a hard working, classy lady who inspires me to be a better woman. Last week, I was enjoying a program about the inner workings of Buckingham palace, and I made a resolution to myself to try to be more lady like, more reserved, and (much) more dignified. Unfortunately for me and my new found resolution, I miscalculated the width of my body versus the width of my hallway, and I crashed into the wall, bruising my hip and elbow. My very recent attempts at decorum and gracefulness came to an abrupt end when I in turn slapped the wall and called it a dirty SOB. It was then that I found myself confronted with the harsh truth- I am no classy lady. I barley even limp into the category of "lady". As much as I admire the Queen, or characters like Elizabeth Bennet or Elinor Dashwood, I will always have more in common with the likes of Phyllis Diller and Cloris Leachman. I will always be the comedienne, willing to take a pratfall or a pie in the face for the sake of humour.
Sometimes I worry about the legacy I am passing on to my daughters. I don't suppose they will ever be the demure little ladies I always hoped for them to be. Banshee is always ready to do battle with her mouth, or if need be, her fists, and Things 1 and 2 think that fart jokes are the best things going. I once even heard all three of them attempting to burp their ABC's, a skill taught to them by their older brother, not me, in case you were wondering. I am guilty of teaching them the "Beans" song, but that was for the purpose of introducing more fiber into their diet. Hey, it's good for your heart...
Maybe it's not too late for me or my girls. I suppose with a little more effort I could try to be a bit more lady like. It would mean having to refrain from making boob jokes and complaining about the other joys of being a woman. I wouldn't be allowed to chuckle at inadvertent ball or nut jokes, and snorting milk out of my nose will be completely off limits. I would also be forced to endure all the ups and downs of life with fortitude and forbearance, so I guess coming on here to complain about well, everything, will also be right out. So what in the world would I write about? The weather? What pants are fashionable this season? Who would want to read that?
On second thought, maybe I should just stick to admiring the Queen, as opposed to emulating her. Sure she has grace and style, but does she have to freedom to tell potty jokes? Probably not, and potty jokes are part of the inalienable rights of the class clown. So, the Queen can keep her crown, and I'll keeping making remarks about the throne, and why my kids are capable of peeing on it, beside it, and behind it, but just not in it.