Disclaimer: This article is satirical.
Can I call you Kate? We can also go with Duchess if you prefer. Or Catherine. K-Middy?
Anyway, first of all, congratulations on the pregnancy! Now that you’ve got the whole heir and the spare thing out of the way, hopefully, you can have a slightly more chill experience than the last two times around and just go full pregnant woman on this one. Plus – now that you’ve got a boy and a girl, your hand-me-down wardrobes are really set. Win.
Also, I know you must be feeling pretty sick right now, so my non-medical treatment recommendation is some rice crackers on the couch and putting your feet up. There's a really good series on Netflix right now called The Crown, I highly recommend watching it while you're there; very binge-worthy. Wills might even enjoy it too.
The real reason I'm writing, though, is that I want to talk to you about something pretty serious. Woman to woman, stranger to stranger, pauper to royalty.
I know we've never met or are likely to meet due to the fact that we're separated by multiple oceans, a rigid social class system and having literally nothing in common, but still, I'm reaching out here. I'm begging you...
Please don't steal my baby name.
You see, while you and your crew spent the hours following the announcement of your pregnancy popping non-alcoholic bottles of champagne and tearing through the halls of Buckingham Palace celebrating, the bookies were going to town crunching the odds and hedging their bets as to what the next member of your family will be named. And very unhappily for me, apparently, it's Alice.