It has been brought to my attention that you’re getting married next year to your very own prince. Mazeltov! Guess what? Me, too.
I’m sure you didn’t mean to try and upstage me. After all, you must have seen my engagement announcement — it was in the JC. And our food editor wrote a blog post about my guy’s romantic proposal. OK, Harry roasted a chicken for you (was it a Friday night?), but my man smashed an avocado to spell out his proposal on toast. Impressive, eh?
The Chief Rabbi tweeted his congratulations to both of you. Well, when I announced that I was getting married, he called me personally. But he is a really busy man, so don’t feel too disheartened.
Scheduling your wedding for May when mine is in July — I’m not delighted.
However, I’m willing to overlook this poor timing, because falling in love is a wonderful thing and I think we have a lot in common.
We’re both multi-cultural feminist women in our 30s, and we’ve found happiness with unlikely ginger boys who have a habit of breaking the rules. Plus we both have friends who work in fashion — very useful when you’re planning a wedding. Mine, a stylist, says “less is more” and “Israeli-designed dresses often leave little to the imagination,” pieces of advice which I’m sure you’ll find useful.
And I hear your mate, designer Misha Nonoo, fancies herself as a bit of a shadchan. Another thing we have in common. I was set up by a Jewish girlfriend, too, who organised her birthday party just so I could meet my beloved.
Since you and Harry began dating in July 2016 the Jewish community has longed to claim you, even though we’ve had to accept that you’re not actually Jewish. Nor is your dad. It’s just that we’ve been after a real Jewish princess for some time. All the signs were there — your real name is Rachel, people think you’re Sephardi, and you’ve (sorry to bring it up) already been married to Jewish film producer Trevor Engelson, from Great Neck, New York. Luckily for Harry, that didn’t go so well.
Your first wedding (sorry to harp on) has been described as Jewish, as it featured a “Jewish chair dance”. Maybe you felt a little disappointed that your supposed Jewish wedding took place on the beach (ugh, sandy toes).
Luckily, your second wedding will be much more like a real Jewish wedding, featuring glorious hats (maybe check out your new cousin Beatrice’s choice beforehand) much tradition, and plenty of food. It’ll just be in a church. Your future sons are likely to have a bris though. Talk to the Chief Rabbi about it, if he ever calls you.
I have to confess, I was always going to marry Harry if it didn’t work out for me, so I’m glad he has found you. You clearly make him happy. You seem like the kind of girl he needs.
So, as this is a time for celebrating, I’ll forgive you for upstaging me in the 2018 wedding-of-the-year stakes.
We’ve a lot to get done. And my table-plan stress pales in significance to your dilemmas. I’d hate to have to worry about the broiges if you don’t invite the Trumps. Although, if you’re as like me as I think you are, you won’t lose sleep about offending people you think might spoil the atmosphere.
Just one thing. Try not to wear the same dress as mine, because that would be really awkward for you.
Lots of love to you and Harry,