Prince and the Trousers
Last summer I spent the entire time in the garden. It was hot. I’d just moved to London. Life was great. I drank a lot of peach cordial during the day and at night me and my friend, who I shared a bed with, would bleach our teeth and watch Californication and take turns to face the wall for privacy. One weekend, we were sunbathing with these other girls; friends of friends that I’d never met before. Fun and good looking, thin with good tans and natural hair colours. They had expensive bikinis. Likeable but the type you’d never get to bond with properly because there wasn’t the vibe or opportunity to say or do something just awful enough to bring you closer together.
“You know how___ is dating Prince?”, one said to the other. My head spun round so fast I’m surprised it didn’t pop off. My friend was being way cooler about it than me, but I could still see her stare at me through her sunglasses. “Prince?” she mouthed at me as they continued to talk about this girl they knew in such a sincere tone.
Their friend, not a famous person but from the sounds of it a ‘talented’ person, while she was dating Prince she had an argument with him on a tropical island and he threatened to leave her there. By this point I was shamelessly up on my elbows. The story goes on; he’d planned to abandon her on this island because she refused to change her trousers.
The conversation ended abruptly when somehow the decking caught fire and there was a rush to sort it out. Sadly it wasn’t a bonding event, more of a ‘shut this chat down’. Convenient really, considering I already knew too much and if I’d heard any more I definitely would’ve told everyone about it. I haven’t met those girls since.
My only regret of the summer of 2014 was that I never found out what it was about those trousers that had made Prince so angry. The best theory we’ve come up with since? Is that they were exactly the same as his.