Once upon a
time in Aragon, there was a beautiful auburn-haired princess named Katherine.
One day, her father, the King of Spain, told her that when she grew up, she was
to be married to a stranger in England, this bloke named Prince Arthur.
“But Father,”
protested Katherine, “I want to be married for love!”
“Tough
titty,” declared Ferdinand. “You’re a princess, and live in the 15th
century besides. Now let me get to work—I’ve got an Inquisition to run.”
Princess
Katherine, tears in her eyes, rushed to her friend Flounder and told him
everything. However, he was just a fish, and his first language was Urdu, not
Spanish. So Katherine went to her older sister Isabella to tell her of her
troubles, but she was completely unhinged by this time and sleeping with her
dead husband. “Oh, why can I not unsee that?” poor Katherine cried, fleeing
from her sister’s marital chamber.
Resigned and
tired, but excited to live in London, what with all the great museums,
shopping, and theatre, Katherine, at age 15, was anticlimactically married to
Arthur by proxy. They consummated their marriage by proxy as well, which is
simply not very fun, and two years later, Katherine traveled to England just
in time to finally meet her husband, marry him, and catch the plague with him.
“Follow me into the dark!” Arthur cried as he kicked the bucket. “Um…”
stammered Katherine, and promptly got well again. This angered King Henry #7,
and she was cast out in nothing but rags, a Wonder Woman lunchbox, and mice for
friends. After singing an expository song telling about her plight, Katherine
ran into Henry #8 (8 also being very nearly his age at the time) at ye olde
merry frat party and they hit it off, singing the romantic duet together as
they rode a magical sled over England. Henry #7, on his deathbed, looked out
the window and saw how in love they were, and his heart melted and grew three
sizes bigger and he gave them his blessing before he died.
So that’s how
Katherine, the spunky, stubborn princess from Aragon, got her wish to marry for
love. And they lived happily ever after.
…Until 5 out
of six of her pregnancies failed, Henry schtupped a couple of peasant wenches,
fell in love with that manipulative Boleyn bitch, wanted to divorce her so
badly he created a new religion to do it, and kept her from seeing her daughter
Mary for the last years of her life. But you know.
The End
-Amy
