"I danced with a man who danced with a girl who danced with the Prince of Wales."

That old song lyric sums up the nature of my relationship with royalty. Tangential, to say the least. Now, as a sort of outline of things to come, I'll list my personal tangents in descending order of impressiveness:

1. A friend of mine once received a medal from Queen Elizabeth, which is at least as big a deal as the dancing thing, but not as glamorous.

2. And another friend named Kelly is a cousin or something of Princess Grace of Monaco -- the movie star who married Prince Rainier of ... you guessed it ... Monaco.

3. And I once met a woman who claimed to be have princess status in one of those obscure principalities that melted away after World War II or maybe even World War I.

4. And I pause at the drugstore checkout to leaf through any magazine that features a photo spread of Kate and William's kids. (If I actually bought the magazine, this would be higher on the list.)

Anyway, tangential relationships have a remarkable way of feeding the imagination. Besides, I really, really feel that I have some advice to offer the royal folk -- by whom I mean the British royal folk as you've probably guessed. You might also have guessed that I don't go along with this let's-get-rid-of-the-useless-monarchy point of view that keeps popping up in the Commonwealth of Nations. I'm opposed to the opposers. Not that it's any of my business, mind you. I'm just saying.

But I digress. Let's consider my first connection: When my friend George and his wife, Jane, told the gang about the medal he had received, we naturally had a lot of questions: "What did you wear? Jane. "Did you get to take the whole family?" "Was it in some castle or what?" "How exciting was that!"

"It's lucky we got the queen," said George. "Some people get Charles. And some people get Philip or Princess Anne. It could be any of them. Or it could be someone else."

Someone else? Did he mean a non-royal. Like a 'nobody' else?

Exactly. But no worries. They -- He -- got the queen. Well, what was she like?

Jane told us. "When we heard it was the queen, everyone went outside and stood at the side of the road to wait for her. And when we saw her car coming, we waved and waved. And guess what she did."

Jane got this prissy look on her face and inclined her head ju-u-ust a snitch. It was less than a bow. It was way, way, way less than a wave. It was a sort of "All right, all right, I see you" gesture. And it was pretty funny. Jane did it two or three times. George wandered off to join another conversation, probably because he felt disloyal, having been so lucky as to 'get' the queen in the first place. As I mentioned, it was funny. But it was disappointing as well.

Let's skip over Princess Grace. Even my friend, her cousin, never seems to have met her. We'll move on to the third princess, the one from the lost minor kingdom. I met her when I was involved with a summer tent theatre. At first, most of us didn't believe the story told about her. But lo and behold, it turned out to be true. She wasn't Anastasia or anything, but she had indeed escaped some mortal danger by making her way through a hidden passageway in the bowels of the family castle. (That's the way it was described. Don't blame me.)

The princess didn't act like a princess. In fact, she seemed unaware of her princess-ness -- and not in a good way. I mean, she didn't hesitate to let people know about it, but she didn't live up to it. There was no graciousness about her. She seemed never to have heard of noblesse oblige. And while she never gave one of those aloof inclinations of her head, she didn't go out of her way to be friendly either. Most of us never even got to know her, except by way of the stories, true and otherwise, that swirled around her as she swept imperiously, and just a bit untidily, through the tent's backstage area, her hair undone, her costume slung carelessly over her arm. Somehow, it seemed she had forgotten who she was, along with all the expectations that went with her position, whatever it had turned out to be here in America. She was self-absorbed, but not self-aware.

There you have it -- my stories of two royals that I never knew, one who kept her status in mind, one who didn't live up to her title, but wasn't one of us either. Both promising. Both disappointing.

But there is another image of royalty that stays with me. Years ago, when Queen Elizabeth was still a princess, she and Prince Philip visited Canada. There were pictures in the papers, of course. Lots of them. But only one stands out in my memory. It was of Elizabeth square dancing. And enjoying it. A beautiful smile lit her face, and although she was wearing square dancing regalia -- a broomstick skirt and a scoop neck peasant blouse -- she looked -- well, just like a princess. A princess who remembered who she was, who remembered what she meant to the people around her, and who wanted them to know what they meant to her.

Because of that picture, I've cut the queen a lot of slack over the years. I've looked past the odd little nods and waves. You might say, she dosey-doed her way into my heart long ago, and she remains enthroned there. (I know. I know. That's not the way you spell that square dance move, or even the way you're supposed to say it. But this is my memory. Okay?)

So that's it. My advice to the royals: Remember who you are. And make yourself memorable -- in a good way - to the people who care about you.

Come to think about it, that's not bad advice for any one of us.

God save the queen.