Anyhow, the romantic side of me LOVES thinking about the fact that my future husband is out there somewhere living his life. Yes, I know that this is the gayest thing I've ever said, but it's true! I love pondering where my future husband might live right now and what he may be doing at any given moment. Is he spearheading a hostile takeover of one of the largest corporations in the world? Is he fearlessly betting millions at the high roller Baccarat table at Wynn? Did his team just win the World Cup? Is he serving soup at a homeless shelter? Ha! Just kidding about the last one. Like I care about that.
And since I truly believe that my husband is out there somewhere (SOMETIMES I believe this, not always), I’d like to compose a love letter to him that I will one day show him, perhaps after I’ve just conceived our first child thereby locking his ass down for the next 18 years.
Here it goes.
My Sun and Moon,
What the FUCK took you so long? Do you know how many LOSERS I had to bang before you found me? It’s a damn miracle I don’t have herpes on top of genital warts. What the hell were you doing while I was suffering through this, this, this, this, and this? You were off banging 21 year-olds, weren’t you?
And now, finally, at age 30, you’re ready for a real woman. Am I supposed to be grateful? Fuck you! You owe me a pair of Jimmy Choos for every year of my life I spent getting hooched up and wasted at bars looking for your sorry ass. You know my size, and don’t you dare come back with anything shorter than a 4” heel.
I can’t wait until the day we drop Peter Jr. off at Stanford. And you BETTER make sure he gets in with Early Admission.
Now go tell Cook I’m hungry but that I don’t want any carbs tonight.
No, I'm not fucking you tonight. But you can eat my box.
FOREVER yours,
[you WISH you knew my name, bitches]
Isn't he going to be so lucky to have me?
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