You might grab a granola bar on your way out the door. A crown family? They sit down for a formal breakfast that looks like a mini summit meeting. The silverware has more pieces than a car engine, and there’s a specific order for toasting the bread. It’s like they’re preparing for a board meeting while eating their eggs, except the board members are also your grandparents.
I picture a morning where a royal kid spills their orange juice, and instead of a parent yelling “Watch out!”, a courtier immediately calculates the fabric damage and a footman brings a silk napkin. “The juice has been logged, Your Highness. Crisis averted.” Meanwhile, my coffee spills and I just dab it with a sock.
