Queen Elizabeth turned the whole of England into a Winter Wonderland to cure the Brexit blues. She ordered snow blowers to cover the corrugated roofs in white powder, and made sure there was an ornament and nutcracker on every corner and sepulcher. Christmas carols Abba had written under a nome de plume blasted through the air.
Prince Charles marched in on her breakfast. “Yo yo ma! Are you feverish? What kind of crazy esoteric thing are you doing?”
Camilla was there to commiserate. “How are the homeless supposed to function in your eclectic ‘Wonderland’?” She took a moment to rub her itchy belladonna dilated eyes. “What about the people that celebrate Chanukah?”
“Oy, Diablo!” The Queen pushed the ketchup aside with an arthritic hand, and looked up from her Omelette du Fromage and cranberries. “Did you really bring that vacuous diva in here?”
“She’s been my wife for eleven years, Ma, my assumption is that she’s welcome.”
“Everything about her is fundamentally wrong! Now get out of my Wonderland, both of you.” The Queen went back to her breakfast, staring out the window at her creation.