According to ancestry.com, I have no royal blood in my lineage. As a kid, I thought I did because my father frequently described me as a royal pain in the ass, but it turns out that had a completely different meaning.
While we’re on the subject of royals and asses, did you know that you’re not allowed to show the King or Queen your backside? I mean, what is that? No matter how awkward the situation, you must walk away from them backward. That’s not always easy to do, and it seems downright hazardous to me, but to them it’s apparently a sign of disrespect if they get even a glimpse of your buttocks.
What is so offensive about showing the King a perfectly nice tush? I get that it’s impolite to turn around dismissively and walk away from anyone, but even if you curtsy and say, “So very nice to meet you, my liege,” and then turn around to leave, which seems perfectly civil to me, it’s frowned upon by the royal family. In the old days, they might have lopped your head off for such an egregious offense. Now you probably just won’t be invited back.
Which, believe me, is no great loss.
The one royal I met in person was not impressive to me in the least. True, he’s the Fredo of the family, but I watched every episode of The Crown, and none of them seemed like anyone I’d risk falling over backward and breaking a hip for.
Several years ago, when I was performing stand-up at the Soho Theatre in London, I was invited to a cocktail reception at Kensington Palace for a group of European ad executives attending Advertising Week UK. The palace was just what you’d expect a palace to be: majestic, extremely ornate, and opulent.
Every inch of wall space was covered with Renaissance masterpieces. Minor masterpieces, probably—they save the good stuff for their private quarters, I’m sure—but it was really something to see. Even the ceiling was decorated with murals and elaborate gilt moldings. There wasn’t an inch of blank space.
Several of the paintings depicted naked young men. One of them was of a teenage boy’s unclothed posterior. For some reason, his ass was acceptable. Go figure.
Truthfully, the whole place was a bit ungapatchke for my taste, but I was fascinated by the history. Had George III walked on these threadbare carpets and looked at these naked boys? Queen Victoria? Princess Diana?
I was milling about, making small talk, when my friend, who was the organizer of the event, grabbed my arm and pulled me over to meet none other than Prince Andrew. (Told you it was the Fredo of the family.) My friend introduced us, explaining to Andrew who I was, and what TV show I was on.
Andrew replied, “Well, I have no idea who you are because I don’t watch any television at all.”
“Really?,” I said. “Not even news? Or football?”
“No,” he said. “Nothing. I watch nothing.”
Talk about a conversation stopper.
I didn’t really understand what he was doing there, because this certainly was not his crowd. Searching for something to say, I asked him if he lived here in the palace.
“I do not, and no one lives in this particular section,” he said. “We use this portion to rent out for events like this.”
Ah, so he’s being paid to be here, I thought.
“Smart,” I said.
To which the prince replied, “We have a Jew who runs our finances.”
Yes, he actually said that to me.
Now, how was I supposed to take that, and what exactly did he mean?
Did he say it because he knew I was Jewish and thought that was a way to connect with me? You know, the “Some of my best friends are Black” syndrome.
Or did he say it because he’s a rabid anti-Semite and was putting me in my place? The royal family is German, after all, and Andrew’s uncle Edward was a known Nazi sympathizer. (I never bought that claptrap about his abdicating so he could marry Wallis.)
Or did he say it because he had no idea that I was Jewish and just assumed everyone in the room was as anti-Semitic as he was?
Or did he say it because he’s just a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to read a room, let alone how to turn on a television!
To which the prince replied, “We have a Jew who runs our finances.”
And who was this “Jew” running their finances? He said “a Jew,” not a Jewish firm, or some Jews, or Jewish bankers. He specifically said “a Jew,” which implies a specific person and makes me wonder: Was the Jew in question a friend of his? A Jew who perhaps took the prince on his private jet to his private island with many other luminaries, titans of industry, and U.S. presidents?
On the other hand, he said “our finances,” as in the royal we, not “my finances,” which makes me think it was another Jew altogether, because I just don’t see the Queen having trusted her fortune to one of Andrew’s cronies.
On the other hand, the fact that he was always her favorite makes me question her judgment. Did you know that Prince Andrew, the Duke of York, had 72 teddy bears on his bed, positioned in the exact same way every day, into his 30s? Apparently, if even one of them was out of place, he would scream at the staff. Presumably, the Queen found this behavior charming. Oh, look how my Andy loves his teddies so. Isn’t he adorable? Well, I don’t. He was a grown man, for God’s sake!
So many questions and so few answers. I’ve concluded that I will never understand the royal family, nor will I ever know why the prince chose to tell me a personal detail about who runs “our” finances. I suppose I could have asked him, but I wasn’t enjoying the conversation and chose to end it.
“Well, isn’t that clever of you,” I said. Then I turned and walked away, making sure that he got a very good look at my oh-so-Jewish ass.
Susie Essman is a comedian, actress, and writer, and played Susie Greene on Curb Your Enthusiasm. She is the author of What Would Susie Say? Bullsh*t Wisdom About Love, Life, and Comedy
