I’m still slightly reeling from the spectacle, grandeur and emotion that was the royal wedding of Harry and Meghan. As I’ve made no secret, I was looking forward to this event the way most other people would await other key life milestones… like a job promotion, a college graduation, or the birth of a baby— if that baby were a six-foot beardy prince with ginger hair. I was stoked. I was ready.

I set up two DVR recordings in case of a disaster— you never know when one network could go kaput and you need a backup recording to watch, instead. While this may seem excessive and overly-cautious, I really don’t think so. You never know when a stiff breeze could cause a piece of the thousand-year-old Windsor Castle to fall down on top of the ABC News truck. Shit happens. Just ask all those people in Hawaii who have molten lava running through their neighborhoods.

I woke up early to watch the event and all the guests arriving to St. George’s Chapel at Windsor. It was a beautiful, clear day— I didn’t notice a big wind, which boded well for the ABC News truck. There were celebrities and royals, and a lot of people that I didn’t recognize. I assume these people were friends, or family— and not random strangers or seat fillers like they have at the Oscars.

The sea of arriving colored hats, pastel frocks and dreary grey suits did grow tiresome after a while, which made me briefly regret waking up so early for the wedding in the first place. But, then, when the bride arrived and stepped out of that super old and fancy Rolls Royce, I was transfixed. She looked like a princess from an old Hollywood movie, wearing a simple, classy dress that could just as easily have been fashionable in 1950, as it would be in 2050. Timeless. She floated up the stairs and the church aisle like a veiled pixie. And I mean VEILED! That beautiful lace veil had to be at least 15 feet long. It was big enough to double as a WWII parachute. After the wedding this morning, she could have been dropped by a plane over northern France and still have had time to save some poor villagers from Nazis before making it back to the castle for dinner. Yes, the veil was that epic.

So, by this point in the wedding, I was super committed. I was all-in. But, then, as Meghan swept to the front of the church, where Harry awaited, I saw a glisten in the groom’s eye. I felt a mountain of “awws” rush up from inside of me, in a place in my heart that I usually only access when I’m watching a romantic comedy starring Julia Roberts.

It got worse. As Meghan and Harry were beaming and holding hands during the beginning of the service, I saw beads of moisture escaping his eyes. He reached up several times to brush them away. He was crying. PRINCE HARRY WAS FUCKING CRYING. Holy shit. I felt tears prickle my own eyes.

This was an astonishing development, because I, like, NEVER cry. I’m not one of those girls that cries at the drop of a hat… or when there is an especially touching Hallmark commercial with an old man wearing suspenders and a bow tie. I cry only when I really, really mean it. Like when a loved one dies, a pet has to be put to sleep, or my internet goes down for more than twenty minutes.

So, the fact that I was crying watching a British prince tear up at his own wedding is quite a feat. I didn’t know Harry had it in him. I didn’t know I had it in me.

Luckily, as the boring parts of the service began, Harry and I worked through some of our emotions until we were on a steady keel, again.

Until… Bishop Michael Curry, a high-ranking preacher from Chicago (yes, Illinois, USA!!), took the pulpit for the main sermon. His rousing, passionate speech had the effect of a lightning bolt striking Windsor Castle. It was like a revival had taken root inside of St. George’s Chapel.

Half the gathered 600 guests were struck dumb— confused and bewildered by the crescendoed words flying from the first African-American leader of the Episcopal Church’s soul. A sermon, such as this, had never been delivered at a royal wedding before— events that are generally known for their stoicism, tradition, and… yes, I’m gonna say it… boringness.

The other wedding guests, not incapacitated by shock by Bishop Curry, were either smiling, smirking, or, if you were Prince William, slightly giggling (and hoping no one saw).

But… yes, William, I did see you.

I’m certain William was thinking of his own wedding service, and how staid and vanilla that it was. And that only his cheeky little brother, Harry, could get away with having a rousing wedding service such as this. Lucky bastard.

A gospel choir followed up this sermon with a gorgeous version of Stand By Me, which nearly had me yelling AMEN! at my television while I tried not to cry again. I think I did hear Elton John sniffing, at this point, also, but it could have just been all in my head. (So many things are, after all.)

It was beautiful. But, for fuck’s sake, the crying needed to stop.

I made it through the vows. And all the remaining loved-up cuteness of the bride and groom, to the point when they all exited the church— to the sound of the gospel choir, again— to wave to the crowds outside. Then, Harry piled Meghan, and her parachute veil, into a horse-drawn carriage that they stole from Disneyland to take a ride around town.

Okay, so maybe they didn’t steal the carriage… but, those horses looked so damn perfect that I’d swear that they were animated.

By this point, I was glad the wedding was nearly over. I didn’t think I could handle any more emotion, or pomp, or circumstance. I was emotionally and physically spent. My soul was full.

But, my stomach wasn’t.

So, I pulled out my tiny curried egg sandwiches, and some tea, and chowed down. I didn’t have any fancy china or teacups to use, so I searched for the most royal-looking cup I could find in my cupboard.

The winner? An Aladdin mug.

Before you protest my choice, please take note of the picture on the mug. The palace in Agrabah. That’s where Jasmine lives. And she’s a fucking princess. So, there.

It seems fitting on another level, too. For as Jasmine and Aladdin sang about “a whole new world” in the movie, Bishop Curry’s final remarks to Harry and Meghan were “…we will make of this old world a new world.”

And, if this wedding is any indication, they are well on their way.