An Open Letter to The Royal Baby

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Your Royal Highness,

Welcome to the World. I have been awaiting your arrival since your parents’ wedding day, and I couldn’t have been happier that you made it here safely. I also think it was chic as fuck of you to show up fashionably late, asserting your dominance over time frames and cementing the fact that you are the most important person in the world.

That being said, you’ve been around for almost two weeks, and I’m a little disappointed in you. We have a few things to discuss, such as your name, for starters. George Alexander Louis? Fucking prime. His Royal Highness Prince George Alexander Louis of Cambridge, St. James Palace? Are you fucking kidding me? You have the ultimate power name. Don’t let peasants (and your nanny and civilian grandmother) deduce you to “Georgie.” You can bring yourself from ultimate badass to Royal Twat by shortening your name and adding an “ie” to the end. Do you know who else adds “ie’s” to the end of their names? American girls named “Lexie” and “Brandie” who, incidentally, become toothless strippers. Do you want to wind up with a meth addiction? No? Then tell everyone to cut the bullshit and call you George.

Moving on.

As third in line for the throne, you’ve basically got the ultimate trust fund set up for you. While most people have yachts and Fortune 500 companies, you have an entire fucking country at your disposal. I think it’s time for you to start using your powers and issuing a few executive orders/royal decrees/however the fuck the British government works:

  1. Bring back Amy Winehouse.
  2. Let’s make a pop culture trade: we’ll give you Justin Bieber if you give us those One Direction lads. True, they’re all douchebags, but I’m convinced the level of douche achieved by Bieber is insurmountable, even if it’s a combined effort.
  3. Hire a few fucking dentists for the entire country. Have you started teething yet? Do you plan on it? One cannot take this issue lightly. You’re just going to have to grin and bear it (see what I did there) and get braces at some point in life. You might as well have the proper procedures put into place. You’d do well to make it national law that any male hotter than a 7 also receives proper dental work, because nothing’s a bigger buzz kill than the gorgeous English bartender with terrible teeth.
  4. Make it “soccer,” once and for all. It’s not “football” or “footie.” It’s already gay unless David Beckham is playing, you might as well get the name straight.

Aside from your role as a figure head, I think it’s important you realize all that life will have in store for you. You have the third chicest mother on the planet (behind Gwyneth Paltrow and Victoria Beckham), and your aunt and uncle are kind of everything. If I were you, I would take as much fashion advice as I could from your mother and your Aunt Pippa, and I would start raging with your Uncle Harry as soon as you possibly can. See if he’s available to babysit, because I’m certain he’ll use you as a way to pick up girls at bars (as if being a fucking prince wasn’t a good enough pick-up mechanism). Also, if you’re lucky, he’ll take you to Vegas and teach you how to blow your first line of cocaine, which is really what family is for, in the end.

In addition to a royal title, your father gave you a receding hairline. Try not to hold too much anger with him for this. Your dad is living proof that no matter how poorly you age, as long as you are royalty, you will still land a hot wife and live happily ever after. Speaking of which, if landing a hot wife is a goal of yours, I’d strongly suggest the following options:

  1. Harper Seven Beckham: Her parents are friends with your parents, which is a plus, so you’ll probably have a few play dates throughout your youth. Even though both her mom and dad are British, she’s being raised in the US, so maybe when you’re 13, she’ll even let you French kiss her and touch her boobs (over her bra) at summer camp, because that’s what most 13-year-old American girls do. Nobody gives hand jobs until 14 in the US. She’s a good option because she’ll probably be fucking gorgeous and develop her own fashion line by the time she’s 7. Also, if she inherits her mother’s alleged penchant for eating disorders, she’ll be a super cheap dinner date.
  2. Suri Cruise: You can date her if you’re going through an older women moment, but do not get serious. As much as I adore her, she is a latent psycho with plenty of daddy issues. Sure, she’ll probably be great in bed and let you choke her when you’re on top, but she’ll be a super psycho who will shame the throne if you ever take her out in public with you.
  3. Penelope Scotland Disick: I truly think you two would make the perfect couple. If her mother is smart, she’ll send little Penelope to the same school as you. You two can become college fuck buddies turned boyfriend and girlfriend, much like your parents were. She’ll be chic, she’ll be little, and she’ll be an American Icon. You’d be making the ultimate international relations move by marrying a Kardashian, and you’d finally find a way to get BBC and E! to collaborate. It would be a smart move for all.

On that note, there is one child you should stay away from at all costs: North West. She’ll probably try to weasel her way into a few play dates, but I urge you to pay her no notice. This girl will have an IQ of 4 and an ego bigger than the entire continent of Europe. Her mother is an illiterate fame whore, and her father will probably be out of the picture by the time she can walk. Do not, under any circumstances, fall under her spell and marry her for 72 days. I would avoid her at all costs, unless you just happen to be partying in Vegas, acting as Uncle Harry’s wing man, and need to get into Tao through the back door.

Listen George, I had high hopes for you, and so far, your first two weeks on Earth have been remarkably unremarkable. You haven’t given any great speeches, you haven’t gotten naked in Vegas, and you haven’t told your Uncle Harry to text me back. The entire world was waiting for your arrival, and so far, you’ve been pretty fucking lame.

I still have hope for you, just don’t let me down.
Best wishes,

Pearls xo

P.S. — I’m still waiting to hear back on the open nanny position, will you let the proper authorities know? I’m sort of maternal in that I would share my wine with you.

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