A Letter to My Future Husband: Please Still Marry Me
To My Hubby,
First of all, thank you for marrying me. I’m pretty sure that my parents never thought this day would come. Between the addiction to Nordstrom, Sephora, and Total Wine, I know that my dad is really happy to be passing along the financial torch, as it were. I hope you have family money, or a high-paying job, preferably both; I’m kind of expensive.
I graduated college with a Liberal Arts degree from an exorbitantly overpriced university. This means that I essentially fucked around with the children of celebrities and politicians for four years. This also means that we will forever be spending the holidays with my family because I feel like it’s the least we can do for the fact that my dad paid my tuition. Plus, I love my family more than I will ever love yours.
My useless degree and less than stellar GPA pretty much mean that I will never bring in a significant income, but that’s okay, because I don’t really like working anyway. My dad always said I was too pretty to work, I hope you agree.
While I may not be contributing financially, I will definitely be adding other things to our marriage. Because I was in a sorority, I learned really important life skills. They will surely be put to good use in the future. I’m a solid crafter. Give me a cooler, some paint, and a few glasses of wine, I’ll present to you a fucking masterpiece. Our daughters will for sure get an A in Home Ec. I can also bullshit like it’s nobody’s business. After four years of recruitment, I can lie through my teeth with the fucking best of them. Your boss’ wife will literally never know that I hate her and think her Botox is botched. I’m also super maternal. After mentoring two Littles through the ins and outs of collegiate life, I’m pretty sure parenting will be a fucking walk in the park. Plus, if the girls on Teen Mom can do it, it really can’t be that bad, right?
I’m pretty positive I’m going to be the best wife ever. I promise to cook dinner every night. Or order it. Whatever. I will serve dinner every night. Also, I’m a really great drinking partner. You give me a nice box of Franzia, I’ll show you a great time. In the spirit of honesty, however, you should know that I have been known to frequent a little place called Blackout City. It is a very real possibility that I will embarrass you at work functions and drunk dial your mom. You’ve been warned.
Speaking of your mom, she will never be my mom. My mom is the authority on all things marriage, parenting, and household. Period. I don’t want your mother’s input on our China pattern (your thoughts are also unnecessary). I don’t want her input on how we decorate our house, and so help me, God, I don’t want her input on how we raise our children.
Which leads me to my next point: children. I want three. I also want a nanny. I had one and I (debatably) turned out just fine. I refuse to be a disheveled mother with unwashed hair, who justifies her weight using the baby she had three years ago, and views trips to Target as sacred alone time. Just in case you’re wondering, our nanny will not be hot. I am not fucking stupid. She will be old and preferably from a European country whose capital I can’t pronounce. She will become a part of our family and she will be loyal to me, not you. Just remember that in case you ever develop a wandering eye. She will allow us to have drunken days at the Country Club. She will allow me to attend cycling classes and bi monthly visits to both the spa and the dermatologist. She will allow you to say that despite having had three kids, you have a hot fucking wife. Everybody wins.
This probably seems like a lot to take in. Just take a deep breath. All will be okay, I promise. I think I really will make you happy. Just think of how pretty I’ll look driving our kids around in my white Lexus SUV. You’ll be the envy of the neighborhood. Plus, despite my penchant for celebrity gossip blogs and Reality TV shows, I do know my way around a newspaper and can carry on meaningful conversations about current events and politics. I also drink my bourbon on the rocks. That has to count for something.
I’m super excited about our life together. I hear that marriage and parenting are hard fucking work, but I think with the right combination of therapy, alcohol, and prescription meds, we’ll do just fine. Catch ya at the end of the aisle.
P.S. Please still marry me.
R to R