It’s time to put a period on The Dork Series. 

Or an apostrophe, am I right, guys? An apostrophe! 

Ahem. Anyway. 

I have spent most of the last month taking classes on the Tudor monarchy.  

One lecture was called — I’m not making this up — “Dressing like a Queen: Elizabeth I’s Wardrobe and Her Fashion Preferences.” 

So good. 

In another lecture, I got to vote as to whether I thought Anne Boleyn was truly guilty of the crimes that separated her head from her shoulders. 

I have long known, as this writer discusses, monarchies rule over my brain the way the Roman Empire rules over other people’s brains. 

Although, I do think about the Roman Empire a bit. But that’s because of the Starz show Spartacus. 

It has a lot of nudity. A lot. And great battles. Great, bloody battles. 

But the Roman Empire doesn’t touch the European monarchies. 

I mean, it did. Once upon a time. It was all over Europe. 

But in my head? No.  

Have I watched The Tudors? Yes. The Crown? You bet. Suits? Of course. Did I break a date to watch coverage of Princess Diana’s death? 

Did I ever. 

I spent six months consumed by the fall of the Romanov family in Russia and hemophilia in the monarchies of Europe.  

I’m just going to say maybe — maybe — if you didn’t persist in marrying your cousins you wouldn’t have spread hemophilia around Europe like it was peanut butter on Wonder bread. 

I also once enjoyed a wonderful May morning watching Harry and Meghan’s wedding at my husband’s family cabin.  

During bug season.  

Not just any bugs. Black serpentine things I’ve never seen anywhere but the cabin.  

They must be tasty because the cabin’s spider population makes the tarantulas in Raiders of the Lost Ark look like a respite. 

Just so you know, when it’s not bug season at the cabin, it’s mouse season.  

They must rotate, the bugs and mice. Like a volleyball team or square dancers. 

My point is this willingness to brave the fauna of the cabin illustrates my obsession with European monarchy. 

Anyway, the Tudor classes I’ve taken are online and pre-recorded. The final class is a Zoom with the historians hosting the content.  

A Zoom in which we — the participants — can ask questions. 

Oh, I have questions. 

Good questions, as it turns out.  

The historians said so.  

And no. They didn’t say, “That’s a great question!” to everyone’s questions.  

I mean, please. 

Consuming the content of these classes is no small thing.  

I’ve watched thirteen hours of lectures, spent six hours in Zoom meetings, read thirty-two pages of content, and spent one ill-advised afternoon in an Old City pub discussing the history of Anne Boleyn portraiture. 

With my husband. 

That poor, poor man. A wife with a Star Trek uniform, a Karen Carpenter book, and rather strong feelings on Anne Boleyn and the Oxford comma. 

He disagrees with my affection for the Oxford comma, by the way. How a couple can raise children while having such oppositional views has just left us at an impasse. 

Good thing he’s not Henry VIII, am I right? 

Henry sent one wife to a convent and beheaded two others.  

In case, you know, you’re a normal person who doesn’t know that. 

I’m so glad he wasn’t home when I finished The Crown. 

My husband. Not Henry VIII. 

I was working out when I finished The Crown. My advice if you haven’t finished The Crown is to watch the last episode sitting down.  

Not while doing dance aerobics. 

Because, you know, crying. 

I would love to discuss more of the monarchy with you. So much more. Like how the Renaissance happens much later without Anne Boleyn. 

Or how I think Natalie Dormer is the best Anne Boleyn. 

Basically, yes. Everything I want to tell you has to do with Anne Boleyn. 

But I can’t. I don’t have time. I’ve just discovered a Tudor podcast, a Tudor newsletter, and there’s a new Anne Boleyn course I need to register for. 

So go. Leave me to my preoccupation. We both know what you’re going to do. 

And trust me. 

You’ll love Spartacus.