Dear Prince Harry (or, as you shall soon be known, hubby),
Welcome to Australia. You’re obviously here to find me, because it’s time, babe.
You’ve had your fun messing around with girls like Chelsy and Cressida, but it’s time for you to find some princess-wife material. And it just so happens, I am of such quality princess-wife material, that I’m practically vicuña wool*.
For starters, dear Hubbykins, I’m up to date on my research. You’re an Apache pilot (I’m pretty sure Apache is a type of helicopter, or a French baked good), and given that you need a wife with an understanding of your passionate career, I have watched and re-watched a documentary on Apache pilots.
Okay, it is an interview with you talking about being an Apache pilot.
Okay, I watched some of it and then found a bit where you accidentally lifted your shirt and showed a bit of midriff then ran off to be a hero, so then I just focused on watching that bit over and over again.
But still, I’m up to date on my research. Of your abs:
Obviously, you have been looking at the wrong girls. If you want a good wife, you have to look at the most important traits. Kate Middleton. Mary Donaldson. Jasmine. Belle. What do they have in common? Brown hair. I’m not being a hairist, I’m just sayin’. Harry, you need a girl with luscious brunette locks. Me.
Speaking of Princess Mary, us Aussie lasses make good princesses. It’s because we are made of good stuff – strong moral fibre, salt water, gumnuts and wine. That may not sound like a winning combination, but trust me, it works.
An Aussie chick will keep you grounded by calling you a whinging pom when you get a bit stuffy. You are probably surrounded by people who tell you what you want to hear – but what you need is a woman who will call you a dickhead when you’re being… well, a dickhead. I will proudly call you a dickhead, darling.
What else does a prince need in a missus? Someone who is good with direction. Why? Buckingham Palace is frigging huge. I may be missing the needle on my internal compass, but I am ready to live in a castle. Siri will help me out. I bet she knows her way to the ballroom from the stables.
It must be hard being a prince and trying to weed out the girls with the wrong intentions. Rest assured, dear Hubba Bubba, I am not after your fortune. Although, I did read that you got $18million on your thirtieth birthday in last September. I am turning 28 in September (we can have joint birthday parties when we are married), and I will probably get $20 in a floral card from my grandma. So I fully understand wanting to protect your assets. But don’t worry, I will be very good when we combine our bank accounts. Yesterday I bought boots that were on sale from $250 to $120, so technically I made $130.