I only ever got my grandma’s half of the conversation while we sat in the kitchen, but it was always gratifying. My grandmother loved celebrity gossip, and picked up the newest tabloids whenever we went to the grocery store. She taught me to read using those very tabloids, and The Bible. I knew more about the marital woes of Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown, not to mention those of Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett, than any 5-year-old kid should. I also knew who Princess Diana was, and what she looked like. I have memories of seeing her over and over on the best-dressed pages of those magazines. She looked nice enough to me, if a little shy. I liked that. I liked that someone as beautiful as she was still always looked a little out of place, and a little unsure. It made her seem more human than the others. But it still didn’t explain why the women in my life were so obsessed with her.