Opening Day, 2048

Thursday, April 1, is Opening Day of the baseball season, a day of great interest and anticipation for we enthusiasts, and no meaning whatsoever to everybody else. From San Diego to Chicago to Queens, we wish the enthusiasts well. For everybody else, have a nice summer.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m what’s left of Bob Kostas and I’m here with a computer-simulated Tim McCarver to bring you Opening Day of the 2048 baseball season, delivered to you in full holographic relief on the TikTok/Goldman Sachs/Draft Kings streaming network, live from Peloton (a division of GameStop Enterprises) Maglev Arena, ten thousand feet above beautiful Albuquerque, New Mexico. We have an exciting match-up to start the season today, featuring the Albuquerque Tacos Brought to You by Taco Bell (A Division of Pepsi Cola), who last year won the Teams From States That Begin With “New” or “North” Division and then swept their playoff Series with the Wilmington Amtraks, winners of the I-95 Corridor Division. They’ll be playing the West Virginia Virus Busters, who beat the Six Flags Rollercoasters in the new “everybody’s in” playoff format instituted last year. It’s New Mexico versus West Virginia and boy, can you ever feel the excitement here, ten thousand feet above Albuquerque!”

“Yes Bob, it's been five years now since baseball realigned its divisions and eliminated the DH in response to Attorney General Ocasio-Cortez's anti-trust suit, and the game is now more vibrant than ever!”

“As is evident from the special floating bleachers that have been flown in for this event and are orbiting the field as we speak. They’re eager to see a full seven innings of major league baseball! Unless, of course, one team is ahead by more than ten runs after five.”

“Well, that’s part and parcel of Commissioner Dana White’s vision for the future of the game. People were surprised when he first announced baseball didn’t need fans, but his innovative program of “virtual attendance” – in which viewers can watch the game using a camera positioned in the seat in which they would have sat – is a smash, as can be seen by the 140,000 avatars in attendance today!”

“A brilliant way to sell the same seat twice. But Commissioner White didn’t have as much luck with the second part of his program, did he, Tim?”

“No, he didn’t, Bob. People might have been prepared for baseball without fans, but they had a harder time with baseball without players, despite Commissioner White’s view that the sport could not afford them.”

“And the transition to androids and drones might have worked, but we were there, Tim, that fateful night a massive solar flare event caused the entire Cleveland Riverfires – as they are now known -- roster to burst into flames on the field.”

“It was a conflagration bigger than Disco Night, Bob, and a landmark in the history of the Club once known as the Indians, in honor of star outfielder of the 1890s and Penobscot tribe member Hugh Sockalexis. But in response to a public outcry, the Club changed its name to the Cleveland Jews, in honor of star shortstop and Jewish player manager of the 1948 Championship team, Lou Boudreau.”

“But that didn’t solve the problem, so after a few seasons, the Jews were renamed the Riverfires, after Cleveland’s famous 1969 conflagration in the Cuyahoga River. But enough history! Let’s turn our attention to today’s match-up. Tell us about our starting pitchers, Tim.”

“Will do, Bob. The eyes of the baseball world will be on the flame thrower New Mexico acquired from the Havana Marlins an hour ago, eight-foot, two-inch Bluto Savarkic, the Serbian Serpent, whose fastball now tops 120 miles per hour and is posting strike-outs at rates not seen since such legendary hurlers as Sandy Johnson and Walter Koufax pitched back before the record book was officially closed at the end of the Pre-Mutation Era.”

“And with a record of 35-0 last season, those problems with the war crimes tribunal don't seem to be bothering Bluto on the mound.”

“Bluto’s looked sharp in his pre-game warm-ups, but he’s up against the ace hurler of the West Virginia Virus Busters, who were formerly the Newark Boat People before the open relocation windows was instituted two years ago. That would be Buzz Benson, who is back from the disabled list after surgery to correct some software problems in his reconstructed right arm.”

“Shades of Pete Gray, Tim.”

“I was talking to Buzz a few moments ago, Bob, and he’s just happy that the patent infringement suit’s been settled and the arm could be reattached.”

“Yes, Tim, and he says the U.S. Special Trade Representative supports his position prohibiting the alternative operating system used by the pitching staff of the Tokyo Giants from on-the-field play.”

“Although it will be allowed experimentally in the last remaining minor league this season, Bob.”

“Which will let us see how Chinese fans react, Tim. But thanks to the Commissioner’s vigorous program of pre-game bodily fluid testing, we can say with certainty everyone playing tonight is human.”

“Which eliminates a repeat of last year’s bitter controversy involving Bizbop Fzztik, the first ballplayer to be grown out of the genetic material brought back from the Perseverance Mars Mission a few decades back. But that’s not the only baseball controversy we have. With the elimination of the old American and National Leagues, baseball’s lawyers have decided all sluggers with sixty or more dingers have to announce by Labor Day which home run record they’re pursuing —Barry Bonds’ NL standard of 73 or the 85 Alex Rodriguez hit in 2024, his remarkable comeback year.”

“It must have been JLo’s home cooking, Tim. But how about that zany Buck Belson of the Fairbanks Expos, who has announced he is shooting for 159 taters this season so he could unify the two titles?”

“No asterisk needed there! Only Baseball has that commitment to tradition, Bob.”

“That’s what makes it special, Tim. Now, let’s review the coming season for our viewers. All eyes are on the Albuquerque Tacos Brought To You By Taco Bell (A Division of Pepsi Cola). What will they do after last year, their best record since leaving Seattle?”

“I see them swapping rosters with the Juarez Walljumpers or the Winnipeg White Owls, who play in the Friendly Nearby Neighbors Division, with some cash or draft picks and a CRISPR coaching facility thrown in.”

“Each team’s allowed one in-uniform geneticist on their bench during games, Tim. But I’ve heard many Clubs are already sending birddogs to some of the maternity wards in those Clubs’ restricted districts.”

“First it was the statisticians, but now it’s the biologists who are improving our game, Bob. But the Tacos might also go the acquisition route and make a hostile offer for one of the Midwestern Teams That Nobody Cares About Division — where the Pirates, Rangers, Tigers, Rockies, and Riverfires all plan to avoid winning.”

“By the way, Tim, the Riverfires last week announced they would change their name again, to the Cleveland Grovers, to eliminate a perceived insult to their city”

“Another controversy! Back to baseball -- we might also see some signings from the Fantasy Camp Invitational Tournament, which was won last season by a group of ear, nose, and throat physicians from Potomac, Maryland.”

“Well, Tim, no one expected New Mexico and West Virginia to go this far last year, did they?”

“Bob, everybody talked about the Yankees being a lock, particularly after Mr. Steinbrenner VI traded two minor league prospects to the Cubs for a 12-win call option for delivery on the interdivisional game exchange in August. But the smart money was, once again, on the Phillies.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? They’ve won it all four years in a row now, Tim, ever since BT Wolfensohn negotiated their cash buyout of the New York Mets. We’re talking dynasty, here.”

“I agree, Bob. It all goes to show that baseball is back, and it’s better than ever.”

“Unless unreasonable player salary demands kill it first, Tim.”

“That’s right, Bob – wait! Here’s a story that just came over the wire! The descendants of Dr. James King, who was born Oliver Folsom Cleveland, Grover Cleveland’s illegitimate child by way of rape, have sued MLB over the appropriation of their family name!”

“Well, that’s something that bears watching. But now, it’s time for today’s first pitch, and here comes our honored guest now to throw it out —”

“He's still the most popular man in baseball today — listen to this crowd! I don’t know how you don’t get goosebumps, Tim.”

”Yes, he is, Bob ... they’re wheeling him out now — ladies and gentlemen, the embodiment of our National Pastime, the cryogenically preserved remains of Ted Williams!”

“You know what they say, Tim. There goes the greatest hitter that ever lived!”

The Big Lie

Claude and Nelson were nervous – they had never been on television before. But, then again, no lemming had ever been interviewed on television, so they bore the weight of knowing they were species pioneers, speaking for the first time to the viewing public. Usually, lemmings only showed up in nature films, with the predictable footage of thousands of their brothers and sisters hurdling suicidally off cliffs to their deaths in a varmint Jonestown, so they put aside their nervousness for the chance to set the record straight.

“Claude, Nelson, it’s a pleasure to have you both here today,” the interviewer began. “But before we begin, Claude – you are Claude, right?” he said to the one on the right, “there is no smoking in the studio.”

Claude put out his cigarette. For a creature only six inches long, he handled his smoke adroitly. Both he and Nelson had attractive, short black snouts that gave way to white jaws and bellies and lustrous brown coats.

“Thanks,” the interviewer said. “Now, let’s get right to it. Mass suicide. Thousands of you racing for a cliff, leaping over the edge to a certain death. What’s that all about?”

Nelson spoke first. “It’s nonsense.” he said. “It’s a calumny that affects every lemming every day of his or her life. This ‘lemmings commit mass suicide’ stuff is not true and never has been true. It’s the Big Lie.”

“#Don’t Jump!” Claude injected. He was smaller and more agitated than his colleague – no wonder he still hadn’t quit smoking.

“But,” the interviewer probed gently, “we’ve all seen the movies –”

We’ve all seen a movie,” Nelson said, determined to maintain his composure. “In fact, it all goes back to one movie, a pseudo-documentary called White Wilderness made by Walt Disney in 1958, which intentionally and maliciously created the myth that lemmings engage in mass suicides by jumping off cliffs and into the Arctic Sea as a matter of course, like Inuit Granny without the ice floe.”

“That’s a weighty accusation,” the interviewer said cautiously. “You’re saying that’s not true? That lemmings don’t race suicidally off cliffs by the thousands?”

“An out-and-out lie,” Claude replied, his very small cup of coffee kicking in. “I would say ‘fake news,’ but unlike most other ‘fake news,’ it’s actually fake. And not only is it completely fraudulent, but it’s a slander against our species, against all rodents, in fact, as if rodents haven’t been smeared enough already.”

The interviewer’s brow gathered inquisitively. “You think rodents haven’t been given a fair shake?”

“Well, think about it,” Nelson picked up on the point. “A European sailing ship laden with cargo -- or perhaps enslaved humanity plundered from their ancestral homes -- anchors at some port somewhere to fulfill its imperialist design and it’s the rat who was trapped in its hold for however many weeks and months looking for something to eat that gets blamed for spreading disease when it runs down a hawser, as if the rat was in charge.”

The interviewer paused. “I suppose I never thought of it that way.”

Nelson sighed to compose himself. “Very few do.”

“But how did this falsehood take root?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Claude interrupted angrily. “Disney’s producers went to an Inuit village in Manitoba and paid the local kids a quarter a piece for a few dozen of our brothers and sisters.”

“Well, wait,” Nelson said sensitively. “Inuit children very often keep lemmings as pets, the way your American children might keep a pet hamster, or their iPhone. They’re very nice children, we have no quarrel with them.”

“Another oppressed rodent!” Claude spat, unable to share Nelson’s tact. “It’s all around us and we accept it as if it were normal! One creature running in a wheel all day for the amusement of another! What barbary! And then one day Aunt Florence shows up as the trim on someone’s anorak. Fur is murder!”

“That’s a separate matter,” Nelson said, cutting off Claude’s tirade in the interest of getting his message across. “So, the producers abducted the kidnapped Inuit lemmings to Calgary – that’s a thousand kilometers away, look it up -- and rigged them up on a turntable up so they’d go flying off a cliff on cue. Just flung them off the cliff, as if Romans were throwing larcenous slaves off the Tarpeian Rock. Murdered to fake a documentary for the producer’s personal profit! And then they dumped another bunch of the poor creatures -- the ones they claimed had survived the plunge from the cliff, as if they hadn’t been subjected to enough! -- in what they said was the Arctic Ocean, but was really the Bow River, which runs right through downtown Calgary, nowhere near the Arctic Ocean, unless you live in the Lower 48. A complete fabrication, a con job. They just herded them into the icy river to drown.”

The interviewer was genuinely surprised. “That’s shocking! Especially coming from a company such as Disney –”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be that shocked,” Nelson said sardonically. “Look at what they did to that poor mouse, dressing him up in those silly jumpers with the big buttons and the white gloves –”

“Mickey Mouse?”

“Yes! That’s his name!” Nelson said. “The poor bugger.”

“But he’s just a cartoon,” the interviewer said. “He’s not real.”

The two lemmings looked at each other bewilderedly. “A…what?”

“A cartoon,” the interviewer repeated. “That’s not a real mouse, it was just a drawing, you know, animation?”

The lemmings were confused, so they hastily got back on message. “Well, genocide was what it was,” Nelson said. “A vicious smear of lemmings everywhere, a rodent snuff movie. And lemmings everywhere have suffered as a consequence.”

The interviewer adopted an inquisitive air. “In what way?”

“For one, people think we’re idiots,” Claude blurted with a sneer. “And imagine how you’d feel if a species that invented disco music, angel dust, New Coke, and the Holocaust considered you an idiot!” He wanted another cigarette.

“But it goes deeper than that,” Nelson said diplomatically, framing with his tiny paws. “It has to do with the way lemmings see themselves. Sure, there are some lemmings whose consciousness has been raised, who see through what’s been done to us. And every now and then you’ll find an old hand who had an ancestor in the Bow River Massacre –”]

“Never again!” Claude shouted, his tiny, clawed paw making a fist in the air.

“But for the vast majority of lemmings, it hangs over them like a cloud. ‘Oh,’ they think, ‘I’m prone to mass suicides, I’d best be careful.’ And as a result, they don’t do what they’re supposed to do, what every lemming is born to do!”

“And what is that?!” the interviewer asked.

“It’s to migrate!” Nelson cried triumphantly. “The very essence of being a lemming is to migrate, because our place in the ecosystem is so fluid. If the winter’s a hard one, or if the raptor bird population had a good spring, then it will take us quite a while to restore our herd and we usually stay put. But a mild winter, easier access to grasses, roots, willow buds , maybe even an insect or two for protein -- and we’ll respond with prodigious breeding – it’s as if we were multiplication tables with nasty bits attached. And when there get to be too many of us for the environment to support, well, it’s time to move on.”

“Ah! Move on, meaning…suicide?”

“No,” Nelson admonished calmly, “migration.”

The interviewer felt foolish. “And what’s that like?”

“It’s gas!” Claude exclaimed. “You got to imagine – thousands of us, tens of thousands, racing alongside each other towards some unknown destination. Each one part of the whole, part of the mass, everybody on the Jones, you know? Imagine everyone around you racing in the same direction –”

“Not to a cliff,” Nelson added.

“Yeah, yeah, not to a cliff,” Claude continued. “But, you start to hear the music, it’s like drums playing, man!” His cute little black nose twitched excitedly. “Are you sure I can’t smoke in here?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” the interviewer replied.

Nelson sighed. “Well, let’s just say that unless you’ve been one of ten thousand lemmings rampaging across the tundra like a herd of tiny buffalo at ground level, you haven’t lived. The feeling, the exhilaration – it’s hard to put into words. But that’s the point – migration is central to the lemming experience, but now there are lemmings out there who think, ‘I’d better not migrate, because we might all race over a cliff and plunge to our deaths, or swim out into the icy depths of the Arctic Ocean until we’re too exhausted to continue and drown.’ And it’s all because of the Myth of the Drowning Lemming.”

“And that’s our message, particularly to the young ‘uns,” Claude said. “Keep migrating, keep moving, don’t be afraid. A lemmings gotta do what a lemming’s got to do.”

And with that, the producer announced “Cut” and interview was over. The studio lights went down and the production crew came over and took the mics off the two. “You guys were good,” one of them said. “I didn’t know any of that stuff.”

Claude and Nelson smiled appreciatively as Claude took out a smoke. “Got a light?” he asked a crew member.

He took a deep drag and blew out a jet of smoke. “And they call us suicidal,” he muttered, shaking his head.

• 

• 

• 

Human Resources

Soupworth, a functionary in Human Resources, was sitting in his cubicle when a notification came across his computer screen. Your two o’clock appointment is here.

He stepped out to find an attractive woman in her thirties sitting there, dark hair and eyes and a lavish smile of perfect teeth. Soupworth nodded neutrally, as human resources officials do, and quietly wondered which of The Firm’s employees had harassed her – The Firm had a bad history on that score. He directed her to the seat next to his desk.

“Well, very pleased, Ms.….” he said, looking at his screen as his fingers on the keyboard awaited her response.

“Markle,” she said. “Meghan Markle. Although you might have me in the system as Meghan Markle Windsor.”

“Your Highness!” Soupworth turned and phumphered apologetically, having not recognized her. “My apologies, but I am required to fill out this form,” he said awkwardly. “Could you state your position here?”

“Duchess of Sussex,” she replied.

“Thank you,” Soupworth said with a rigid smile. “Now, what brings you to Human Resources today?”

“I have several questions about benefits.”

“Well, rest assured we offer the very best in benefits for executives at your level in The Firm. We offer health, dental, pension, castle, servants and footmen, stable privileges, ownership of all the swans in the Thames, driving without a license, personal poet, hunting dogs –”

“My questions really concern titles.”

“Titles, you say? Well, that is something of a gray area,” Soupworth confessed. “We might consult the Human Resources manual, but unfortunately,” and here he began rummaging across his desk, “I don’t seem to be able to find it –”

“I brought the relevant page with me,” Meghan replied, and took a piece of paper from her purse. “The grandchildren of the sons of any such sovereign in the direct male line (save only the eldest living son of the eldest son of the Prince of Wales) shall have and enjoy in all occasions the style and title enjoyed by the children of dukes of these our realms. George V put it in the manual when he was CEO in 1917. Although I understand a revision in 2011 made it apply to male and female children.”

“Yes,” Soupworth grunted, “ So, what is your issue?”

“My issue, so to speak, is my baby son, Archie.”

“Oh yes! I have heard -- congratulations! Let me remind you about our very liberal maternity leave policy – you can leave your baby with any servant you like!” Soupworth enthused. “Oh, I do love babies. Have you a picture?”

“Not with me, but it’s in the Sun,” Meghan said. “But my problem is this. Archie has been denied the title ‘Prince.’”

Soupworth cleared his throat. “Well, not everybody can be a Prince or a Princess. If every descendant of a Prince or Princess became a Prince or a Princess, there’d be Princes and Princesses all over the place, which defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? Besides, you’re already a

Duchess, which is a very good situation for a young person such as yourself.”

“The manual says the grandchildren of the son of the sovereign shall have the title enjoyed by the children of dukes, and my husband, the Duke of Sussex, is Prince Harry. And he is a grandchild of Charles, the Prince of Wales.”

“So it would appear,” Soupworth deflected, “but the manual gives the CEO considerable discretion in these matters --”

“And all I want is that discretion be exercised fairly. For example, Eugenie and Beatrice are the children of Harry’s uncle, Prince Andrew, and they enjoy the title Princess, but my little Archie hasn’t been made a Prince.”

“Yes, in that circumstance the title was bestowed –”

“And Archie is now seventh in line of succession, while Eugenie and Beatrice are ninth and tenth.”

“I'm sure we can sort this all out,” Soupworth replied, pursing his lips.

“And, while it might not be immediately relevant, Prince Andrew, is a serial rapist of underage girls enabled by Jeffrey Epstein.”

“Well, that does sound somewhat damning when you say it like that. But The Firm tries to take a forgiving approach to our employees when they act in a moment of weakness. You know, Richard III and those poor little boys, Henry the Second and the Thomas Beckett business – just a misunderstanding there, really – or Queen Victoria’s grandson, Prince Albert Victor, who seems to have been Jack the Ripper. We value stability here at the Firm and, well, these things happen. You can’t hold a Royal to the standards one would apply to, say, the Governor of New York.” Soupworth could see the waters around him were getting deeper.

“But why would Archie be denied a title that would ordinarily be his in due course? Why would he, or for that matter, I, be treated differently?”

Soupworth bit his lip momentarily. “Perhaps it’s because you are – my my, this is rather delicate, isn’t it? How should I say this –"

“What is it that troubles you so, Mr. Soupworth?”

“Very well. Perhaps it’s that you are…,” he said, taking a large breath, “American!”

Meghan was unruffled. “American? But I have become a British citizen! I know what a kip, a boot, a bog, a quid, a wanker, and a brolly are, and I’ve learned when people here say “brilliant,” they don’t mean it. I even learned to drive on the left and have injured fewer people while doing so than Prince Phillip has! I’m a better Englishwoman than many members of The Firm. For example, Prince Carl Eduard, the Duke of Coburg, grandson of Victoria and Albert, who fought for Germany in two world wars and ran the German Red Cross during the second.”

“Well, we do try to encourage charitable endeavors, and as they say, blood is thicker than basic decency.”

“Or for that matter, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, who spent a decade either supporting Hitler or having rough sex.”

Soupworth nodded. “Yes, I see your point.”

“Then what is it about me that had led to Archie being denied what is rightfully his? I still don’t understand the discrepancy.”

Soupworth exhaled deeply. “Well, it’s hard to say. But perhaps it’s because you are -- well, once again, I hesitate to say it out loud, as provocative as it is –”

“Just speak up, Soupworth. We can’t make progress if we don’t say what’s on our minds.”

“Very well,” Soupworth said wearily. “It’s only conjecture on my part, but it may be you are -- a divorcee.”

“A divorcee,” Meghan said, considering it. “Well, yes I am. But Camilla was a divorcee and was offered the title ‘Princess’ when she married Charles. She only refused it because she knew the British people thought of their beloved Diana as ‘The Princess of Wales,’ but never her. Besides, were Camilla to die, there’d be no ‘Candle In the Wind’ at the funeral, just ‘Jolene,’ or maybe ‘Second Hand Rose.’ And Camilla had been married to her practice husband for twenty-two years.”

“Yes, I recall,” said Soupworth noncommittally.

“And had two children. And then there’s Margaret, who divorced her randy little photographer yet somehow continued as Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowden, and that was after she carried on in public with Lieutenant Townsend, who was divorced himself.”

“We’ve all seen The Crown, Your Highness.”

“Then if it isn’t my being an American, or being a divorcee, then what is the problem?” Meghan asked insistently.

Soupworth’s brow furrowed. “Well, if your problem can’t be explained by your being an American, nor being a divorcee, then perhaps it’s…” and here he hesitated, fidgeting nervously, “..well, once again, I find myself dealing with an awkward subject…”

“Please be direct, Soupworth. We must get to the heart of the matter.”

“Very well then. Perhaps the problem is you are…a commoner!”

“A commoner? What about Sarah Ferguson? Her children are Princesses!”

“The Duchess of York is descended from Charles II himself,” Soupworth reminded her.

“Yes, by way of one of his numerous bastards, which is as common as you can get. Besides – I’m not a commoner, I’m a Hollywood star!”

“You were on basic cable, Your Highness.”

“So was Walter White, Soupworth. But if it’s not a matter of my being an American, or a divorcee, or a commoner, then what on Earth is the matter?”

Soupworth shrugged. “It could just be a simple misunderstanding, because I really can’t think of any other explanation,” Soupworth said.

Meghan’s eyes widened. “There is another explanation –”

“Well, it will do us no good to conjecture,” Soupworth interrupted. “Let me make a note to look into the situation and get back to you. Is there anything else?”

“It regards my mental health.”

“Mental health,” Soupworth repeated as he entered the information, then smiled pleasantly. “Well, on that score, there is good news. While I seem to have momentarily misplaced my manual, The Firm’s executive benefits program has a number of alternatives for Firm members who are a bit, how shall we say, down in the dumps. For example, there’s grouse hunting at Balmoral, which is also a good place to take a nice drive across the moor. And there’s Sandringham, which is a lovely castle, and offers horseback riding and pigeon racing, which are superb for taking one’s mind off one’s problems. And it’s a short walk to St. Mary Magdalene Church, and confession is always good for the soul, isn’t? Unfortunately, the Britannia, Her Majesty’s yacht, has been decommissioned, or you could enjoy a boat trip.”

“I need more help than a boat ride,” Meghan said.

“Well, that is unfortunate. Let me ask – has your mental state interfered with your ability to perform your duties?”

“I don’t think so,” Meghan said. “I’ve been posing for pictures, waving my hand with a very slight rotation in the wrist, wearing stylish hats at a rakish angle, standing next to Harry when he visits one of his Trusts – I think I’ve got it all covered. But I’ve been unhappy as I’ve been doing it!”

“Unhappy you say?” Soupworth sighed. “Well, I am afraid The Firm does not recognize unhappiness as a condition. Granted, you might be discomfited, or perhaps be suffering from a certain unease, or perhaps experiencing an unsettled feeling. But we are The Firm and this is what we do. We are not happy or unhappy, we simply are. So my advice to you is to stop being unhappy, and if you follow this advice, you will feel much better. As I said earlier, this is all something of a gray area.”

Meghan rose. “Frankly, Soupworth, it does not seem like a gray area. It feels more like a black and white one to me.” She picked up her purse and prepared to leave. “I’m sorry you can’t find a way to address my concerns, Mr. Soupworth. I can see this issue requires elevation -- I’ll simply have to take my case to the very top and see if I can address my grievances with her!”

Soupworth sputtered nervously as he contemplated Meghan’s proposed course of action. “Your Highness! I must urge caution! It is just not done. One does not approach the Queen with complaints about your titles or dissatisfactions! Let me assure you, she is not as congenial as Claire Foy, or even Olivia Coleman or Helen Mirren! Even someone such as yourself does not simply barge into her chambers and say, Your Majesty, Queen Elizabeth –”

“Queen Elizabeth? Oh, no! “ Meghan said. “I’m talking about the real queen, Soupworth! Oprah!”