"Suck on it, bogan!"
"OK, let's go under the bleachers."
God, she is an embarrassment. Yesterday, 27 January, Mary jetted off (business class? 1st class? private Lego jet?) to Barcelona for the World Championship of handball. Spain and Denmark were in the finals. What a perfect opportunity for Mary to prove to the Danes - by contrast with the sophisticated, formal Spanish - that she is about as poor a representative for them as one can get. Danes, if this isn't a splash of cold water, than I don't know what is.
Our clueless little filly was no doubt uber-excited about being at a sporting event that would not only burnish her phony credentials as "Sporty Mary", but she knew full and well that she'd be surrounded by MENS. Loads of them. Probably lots with money. And best of all she'd be required to sit next to someone she most likely knows is her superior in terms of classiness, but someone her middle class sensibilities believe is also a snob just by virtue of being a class act. You know she felt she has something to prove to Felipe who didn't let her rub his chest during the Sydney Olympics, whose wife upstaged Mary at her own wedding, whose children are gorgeous and tri-lingual, who can form a complete sentence in his own or another language. Too bad for Felipe that Cousin Joachim and his wife couldn't come instead; Letizia might have cleared her calendar for thatty, they all get along so well.
Felipe is such a royal! No trace of disgust with this bogan he saw catch, gut and fillet Cousin Fred that night in the Slip Inn in September 2000. No apparent nausea in the presence of the poorly clad sheila who is treating an official visit to his country like another day at the mall shopping for the kids. Mary is such a slob! Untucked hippie shirt hanging out from under a weird, belted dark suede jacket with faded jeans (she has nicer, darker rinse jeans; this pair is the one she wore to visit Amber Petty in Adelaide - Felipe, that's an affront, brother!), and new heels. What a mish-mash! She didn't need to wear a dress or skirt, but JEANS for f*ck's sake? FADED JEANS. With a shirt that looks like it smells of patchouli badly coordinated with a jacket. With a belt. Of course. How else would we know it's Mary?
Danes, this is what represents you. A tacky woman with no sense of occasion who believes her title is enough to make you love her, despite her lack of elegance and class. To show up to be Denmark's highest representative dressed as if she stopped by on her way back to the store to exchange socks. She has no clue. The Spaniards weren't impressed. She seemed to try to sing the Spanish national anthem, but couldn't really muster the Danish one (hint, Mary: you are no longer Australian). She didn't call out pouty Mikkel Hansen for taking off his second place medal not long after she put it around his neck (and this is someone they let Xian do his Usain Bolt imitation with). Not such a good sport or role model for Danish children, after all. Well, that's par for the course in Mary's world. Get used to it Denmark. Bad behaviour is tolerated.
Congratulations, Spain! Can't wait for the photies of the adorable Infantitas with the team!
Video: TV2 (Mary handing out medals)
Photos: Claus Fisker, Scanpix/POLFOTO, Luis Gene