Friday, November 22, 2013

Glad you could make it to my future


Today's topic: Write a letter to your future partner, saying whatever you want to say.

Well, if you are my future partner, you've probably heard (and accepted) everything I should be warning about you, so that's awesome - thank you, future partner, for falling in love with me, and for contining to love me.


Chances are, I will write letters to the future love of my life, because I love to write letters. Whether I send them or leave them in place in my journal  - yes, people, in addition to this blog, I also do actually keep a handwritten journal, because I am apparently addicted to writing - I enjoy writing letters. Letters just seem so much more personal than emails or texts. Maybe it's because there are actual pen strokes, or because chances are there are spelling mistakes that auto correct didn't fix for me, or because it takes a long time to write a letter, plus 40-something cents and a walk to the mailbox to get a letter sent, while it takes literally no effort to send an email.

There are several things that the future man in my life should know, and I assume that if in the future, he's still with me, I've told him what they are. And apparently he's ok with them, so that's good...


Dear Guy in my Future,
I don't want to have kids. I'm too selfish for kids. That sounds bad, but it really isn't. What I mean is, I like money, and I like spending it on myself. I don't want to buy diapers and formula and a crib and bottles, when I can buy plane tickets and book hotels and massages instead. I just don't think I was made with that little ticking time bomb some women have that ticks away til the day you get pregnant. I was instead born with an inate drive to see the world, to travel, to fly, to adventure. And, future-man-who-loves-me, I truly do hope we are traveling together, seeing the world from each other's arms, and having lots of sex in the fancy hotels we're booking rooms in.

I don't cook. Sorry. If I can't make it in a toaster, a blender, or a crock pot, you're out of luck. I had ice cream for dinner last night, and I eat Cheerios for lunch on the weekends. I can't cook and I don't like food enough to learn to be better at it. Chances are, I've made you pancakes and bacon a few times when I'm trying to get lucky, and I will always bake you a cake for your birthday, but please do know that no, I did not make it from scratch.

Juno is a permanent fixture, both in my house and in my bedroom. She does what she wants, sleeps where she wants, and I turn the heat up just for her, even when I'm not cold. I don't care if you don't like cats, are allergic to her, or think she is annoying; she is mine and she will be a known presence until she dies. And when that day comes, I will be devastated. Thank you, future guy, for understanding where Juno came from and why she has a special spot in my heart that makes me think it's funny when she bites you.


I am independant and hard-headed, but I bet you already know that. I celebrate holidays and love to shower my loved ones with affection on their birthday (for a whole week). I like family time, date nights, and I don't wear pants around the house. I deserve - and demand - respect, attention, and quality time. Little things are important, but I do enjoy the grand gesture, too. I suffer from incredible PMS, at which times it is best to just stay away from me, because everything you do will make me scream or cry, sometimes both. I cry at movies, I love to read, and I will probably at some point in our lives together, drag you to a therapist, because I really believe in it. I am a great girlfriend, so I assume I'll be a decent wife as well. I leave cards and notes, I love to get flowers, and I crave physical contact. I like kissing and cuddling and sex, all as often as possible.

If we've made it to the point where you're the man of my future, you probably already know and understand all of what I just wrote. So mostly, please just continue to love me for just the woman I am, even though parts of me are quite eccentric.