Dear Future Wife,
Hey! What’s up? How’re you doing?
First and foremost, I’d like to sincerely apologize in advance. How you managed to get stuck with a guy like me is beyond me. Maybe in the near future the U.S. will turn into some dystopian society where a male and female are randomly paired together to represent their district and nobly fight to their deaths until only one remains. Seeing how you and I are (probably) super brave and selfless, we each had the highest chance of being selected since we wanted to give our family more rice and stuff.
Or maybe you volunteered as tribute ;)
Either way, we ended up in a modern day Colosseum, teamed up, and decided to Romeo and Juliet this bitch by committing suicide together via the consumption of dangerous wild berries. Because this was completely unprecedented, the governing body abruptly halted our suicide attempt and hailed us both victorious! And then we fell in love. WOO!!
Or maybe none of that happens; we just met at some social gathering and the topic of The Hunger Games came up and you were like
“OMG! I love The Hunger Games.”
and I was like
“Ya!! J-Law is my home girl!”
and you were like
“Ugh, and Liam Hemsworth is such a hottie.”
And I was like
“Yeah. He’s a total dream boat.”
And you were like
“It’s such a shame Philip Seymour Hoffman passed away.”
And I was like
“Seeeerious.”
*We both raise our glasses. Solemn cheers*
Then we totally hit it off from there. Maybe. Maybe not.
It’s strange to think that you’re out there right now, completely unbeknownst to you that I’m gonna sweep you off your feet one day. And vice versa. Are you a complete stranger at the time of this writing? Or do I already know you? ARE YOU READING THIS RIGHT NOW? (If so, “How you doin?” ;)
You just totally read that in Joey’s accent cause you love Friends. Maybe.)
Or maybe, dare I say, you don’t even exist yet?! That’d be kind of depressing and gross. If that were the case, the youngest I can possibly be for us to even legally be together would be 42.
But then again, I’d be with a hot 18 year old chick.
But no! I’d be over double your age!
But then again, hot 18 year old….
But no! By that point my siblings would surely have children, which would make you an aunt, and you may possibly be only a few years older than your niece and/or nephews!
BUT THEN AGAIN… HOT 18 YEAR OLD.
OK, so this letter has taken an absolute turn for the worst. Do me a favor and grab that contraption from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, stick it on your head, and delete the past 2 minutes from your memory. K? THX.
You back? Cool. What’s for dinner tonight, hon?
.
.
.
SOOO, let’s review what we got out of this letter so far:
- I’d highly entertain the idea of dating an 18 year old when I’m older
- I forced you to delete part of your memory
- I stereotyped your role as a wife/woman by asking what was for dinner
I’m such a great hypothetical husband!!
This letter is a complete mess. But maybe that’s ok. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe it’s just a representation of how clueless I am right now about relationships and taking care of someone beside myself. Maybe I’m just using lame jokes to cover up what really scares me – because maybe I’m not ready.
There are a lot of question marks right now. A lot of unknowns. A lot of maybes. And that’s scary for anyone! But one thing I do know when it comes to being ready is… I’ll know when I know. And as obscure as that statement sounds, it’s pretty much the only thing I’m certain about.
So if I do in fact know you right now (cause I read on an awesome blog that as you get older, you become more susceptible to dating your friends) or if you’re currently a stranger sauntering about somewhere in the world, and we so happen to meet when the time is right, something magical might just happen. And when it does, I’ll know.
Hopefully you will too.
May the odds forever be in our favor,
Michael
