This week’s edition (#10!) is fiction-ish. I found in an old diary of mine a letter that my 15-year-old self wrote to my 20-year-old self outlining what I hope I’d become during that 5-year period. An idea I got from an American Girl Doll magazine, no doubt. I must not have liked the idea too much, because my 20-year-old self did not write one for my 25-year-old self. Oh well. But then I found a diary entry from 5th grade that outlines what I’d like my husband to be. Well, one stream of consciousness involving Hugh Grant and Ikea later and you get: “Dear Future Husband.”
Always an inspiration, Liz Lemon.
“Dear Future Husband”
(Best read while listening to this:
You know that movie, “Must Love Dogs?” Of course you don’t, you’re a boy. Well, that’s my way of saying I have no prerequisites for you. No Gen Eds you must complete to progress. I do, however, have a few things that, should you possess, would just be the icing on the cake. Here we go.
Understand that I exaggerate (i.e. “a few things”). I come from a long line of exaggerators. “The car crash was how bad? The food tasted that good? Your cat is how cute?” If you can recognize this early and often, you’ll save us all some heart ache.
SPEAKING OF CATS. I have a cat. I bet you had no idea. Now, I do not expect you to love the cat the way I love the cat. I treat him like my first born. I do not expect you to. I don’t even expect you to like the cat. You can even dislike the cat. But you CANNOT be cruel to the cat. Let him sniff your hand and play with your shoes and lick your toes occasionally and you’ll have done your duty. If you want to be on the PILTM list with the cat (People I Love The Most) bring over a bag of treats and you’re in. BUT THE SECOND YOU TRY TO SLIP HIM A PIECE OF PEOPLE FOOD YOU’RE OUTTA HERE, MISTER. Just kidding, I looooooooooove you.
You will probably grow to hate my love of neutral colors. I like khaki. I like beige. I like black. I love greys. This does not make me boring. It just gives me spiritual space to add energy with accent colors! Are you wondering what a spiritual space is? GLAD YOU ASKED. (P.S. My use of CAPS is not shouting or anger. It’s excitement and voice inflection through the confines of a keyboard. Remember it. Store it. Live it.)
Do you do yoga? Probs not. Otherwise you’d know what spiritual space is. (I also like to use abbrevs. Life is short, dude.) I love yoga. I will never buy us a couples yoga session. Unless, you know, you like, want to, or something. But I totes won’t if it’s not your thing. But don’t make fun of me for my dedication to it. It IS exercise. (Note: The minute you make fun of me for yoga, I WILL buy us a couples yoga session. Remember it. Store it. Live it.)
When it comes to exercise, it’d be great if you leaned on the side of being in shape too. But I will never exercise with you. Nope. That’s me time, as I’d expect your workouts are probably your “me time.” You probably think this is weird. If we both run, why can’t we run together? If we lift weights, why can’t we do it together. Two reasons. Again, me time. And second, I want you to know I am strong, but don’t want you to see me struggling to leg press 100 lbs. Just don’t.
And in the realm of being healthy…I WILL COOK YOU EVERYTHING. Anything. I will turn our inevitably gorgeous kitchen into Le freakin Cordon Blue. I will meet any food needs, requirements, allergies, dislikes, likes, loves, requests. AN.Y.THING. Ohhhhh, hold on there buster. There’s a catch. See, I make disasters, I don’t clean them up. That’s where you come in. As I said about the cat, I don’t expect you to want to do the dishes, I don’t expect you to like doing the dishes. In fact, I expect you will downright hate doing the dishes. But this seems like a pretty fair trade off. I cook. You clean. Ying. Yang. Pure harmony.
Speaking of harmony, I don’t sing. I can sing. Just not well. Oh, you think I can’t be that bad? Think Chaka Khan at the 2009 NHL Awards times 10 more levels of awful. Hey, I’m not saying she wasn’t a good singer in her day. I had my days of good singing too. But that was when I was 5.
Speaking of the NHL. Do you love hockey? Do ya? DO YA? What about football? College football? Baseball? Basketball? Foosball? THE WINTER OLYMPICS!!?!? It’s not a requirement, like I said, but man would it help. Would sure make Christmas shopping easier. I mean, I could teach you if you weren’t? I mean, say you’re the dark brooding type that doesn’t “get” sports. I’d be totally understanding. I guess. It could be a learning experience for both of us? OH GOD PLEASE LIKE SPORTS.
I will always put the toilet seat down when I’m done. Can’t help it. I’ve been trained from birth. I will never leave it up. Ever.
But I love music. (Smooth transition, I know.) All kinds. I will listen to anything once. And something that’s worth doing once is worth doing again, right? Absolutely. Glad you agree. But you should be warned: When I like a song, I kill it. I play it over and over and over until I can’t listen to it anymore. In which case, I will find a new song to kill. It’s a sad cycle. If you’re smart, you’ll keep your toes out of that endless cycle. Unless you have a song you’d like to hear 24/7 for a week. Hahahaha, just kidding…a month.
Well that’s about it. Nothing too earth shattering. And life is fluid, so hell, this could all change in a year. (Except the toilet seat thing, I’m serious about that.) Here’s to getting to know you.
prah, eprah, errrn, ep, eep! (because you will inevitable call me anything other than my first name, which is exactly the way I like it.)
P.S. I forgot about our love life. I’m an Aries. Google it.