So there was this wedding.

No, I didn't go to London to see it.
No, I didn't cry.
No, I wasn't clutching a bottle of Royal Wedding Special Edition Champagne when it happened.
But yes, I did squeal a little bit at the First Glimpse of That Dress

(One of the kids had informed us the First Glimpse would be possible when, according to the published itinerary, Kate left the hotel at exactly 10:51 am and got into her limousine / lucite hearse / popemobile to drive to Westminster Abbey).

For my part, I hadn't been all that jazzed about the nuptials until that fateful Friday, when you could practically feel the vibrations from fluttering teenage-girl heartstrings as you walked the corridors. It was, after all, the day Kate Middleton would become a REAL LIVE PRINCESS.

Lessons between the morning tea break and lunch had been cancelled to allow the children to watch the event on the television. A wise choice, I thought, so as to allow a communal moment of rejoicing with minimal interruption of scholarship.

Stuff that. A child walked into Julia's boarding house. "How's your morning been?" Julia asked the girl. "Great!" the girl answered brightly. "I had French. We watched the wedding."

I was informed that every minute of the morning had required at least three hours of planning in the way of security, decoration, crowd-control, altar-buffing, carriage-restoration, and the like. Of course most of us were going to take all morning to watch the thing. It would have seemed rude not to. After all, the girls chattered, it's the future King and Queen, the capital city's looking its stately best, and did I mention she's going to be a PRINCESS?

To observe the event-around-the-event, Julia and I went to her boarding house common room. We were surrounded on the one side by a table full of fairy cakes and the cleaning ladies busily judging Camilla Barker-Bowles. On our other side were couches crammed full of teenage girls all agog at the spectacle. Julia bustled around, chronicling the event with her camera while I observed the bunting and paper hearts that the girls had hung around the room.

Of course, the boys were all outside at this point. You know, shooting things and playing rugby and and rubbing dirt in their wounds. Being guys. Not caring at all about this froo-froo wedding business.

Except they weren't. Their boarding-houses, too, had jam-packed common rooms, where apparently hordes watched the wedding with equal avidity.

However, when asked by one of their male teachers why they were so attentive, the boys' interest was a bit less elaborately justifiable.

"She's fit, sir."
"And so's her sister," they widely agreed after both women walked down the aisle.

I had never seen anything like it. I can't remember a Super Bowl that ever got this much attention. Maybe that's why I had approached the event like a bit of a grinch, wondering, really, what all the fuss was about. People got married all the time.

But the kids were just too excited. There was just too much jam and clotted cream in the fairy cakes. Too many fancy hats. Too much red carpet. In a voyeuristic sugar rush, I finally let myself get swept away. And it was so fun, and the dress was gorgeous; I don't care what anyone says.

So on this day, I wish a happy one-month wedding anniversary to what the tabloids have dubbed "Wills and Kate." May their love endure much longer than their honeymoon tans.