The year is 2012. You are Prince Harry, the future not-king of England, and you’re out with friends in Las Vegas having a “lovely” time. When someone suggests taking the party from the club up to your room, you agree, and 25 of your closest buds (LOL) make their way up your 63rd-floor, two-story, $6,500-a-night suite at the Wynn.
You’ve been knocking back vodka Red Bulls all night like the true bad boy you are, and someone suggests a game of strip pool. “Let’s f*cking do it!” you yell, and all you can think is that you’re bummed your besties Kanye and Diddy aren’t there to join you.
Naturally, you cue up the balls and attempt to break, but because you’re a prince and spend most of your time attending tea parties n’ sh*t, you don’t sink a single ball. There are two options: you could chicken out and not take off one piece of clothing, or you could go full stop and strip completely. Stripping seems like the *much* smarter option.
So now you’re naked, and there are lots of girls in the room, and they all have camera phones. Instead of, like, putting your clothes back on, you find one of said girls and “teach her how to hold a pool cue” instead, which is the oldest trick in the book but whatever. Chivalry! Isn’t! Dead!
A week later, the pictures hit the internet, and your dad’s super pissed about it. So is your grandma. It’s awkward, because now she’s seen your bare ass on the internet, and she barely even knows what the internet is because she’s 85 and she’s basically been living in a time capsule for the last sixty years. Here’s how you feel about it:
Fast forward seven years. It’s 2019 and you’ve recently married a girl by the name of Rachel Meghan Markle. You wake up at 5:00 a.m. because you’re an adult and that’s just what adults do, and you have very important royal person things to accomplish. First things first, you grab a green juice from your fridge. Who drinks coffee anymore? Seriously, it’s 2019.
Then you debate between starting your day with a quick meditation or yoga in your home gym with Meghan (vinyasa, naturally). You pick meditation, because ever since you got your hands on a copy of that Buddhist book Eight Steps to Happiness, you’ve been hooked.
You only tried yoga because Meghan suggested it, but now you’re obsessed, and you rave about it to your friends. “I still can’t believe my luck,” you say to them as you check your fitness tracker app on your phone to see how many steps you’ve gotten today. You’re a little under your goal, but you’re going to the gym after your appointment with the nutritionist, which will help.
In short, your life is totally great. But every once in a while, you still think about that legendary night in Las Vegas and that *infamous* game of strip pool. Who could blame you?