Alas in a small tucked away Dominion, some once thought the pimple on the bottom of the Commonwealth's pink bottom, the nation (well, at least three people) is aghast that a royal bosom has been exposed to a worldwide audience.
Surprise! The future queen of England has boobs, and I believe after having a good squiz at the pixelated rack, that there are two of them. Why is this a surprise? In this day of oversized lens and over zealous paparazzi, why oh why would you get your kit off unless you were ensconced in the four poster with curtains pulled?
Many have seen the young man (Kiwi) at the London Olympics who was "snow angel'ing" on top of a building wearing just his jocks, seeking the camera in a very un-shy camera way. Many of us have been amazed at how Google maps can zoom in on our garden to see if the lawns were mowed on the day the pic was taken. So why if you had royal blood, or wedded to a royal body, would you get your kit off unless you were quite comfy having your bare, toned flesh surfing the cyber highways a few hours later?
Big deal. Perhaps it could be used for the greater good, and the PR spin could somehow spin this tardy straw into PR gold. Perhaps it could somehow help raise awareness of breast cancer. We live in a different world now, double standards abound; shock horror that the photos have been taken while also eager to have a look to see what all the fuss is about.
I reckon, the good Duchess should keep the pics as a reminder of her pert-ful youth, as boobs are not always quite majestic as in the throes of youth. And this might be the last photo opportunity.
Funnily enough, a recent royal exposure caused eyes to roll in the royal household. A couple of centuries ago, heads would've probably followed them.
