Life of a Twenty-Something

Just a twenty-something living the dream, trying to check off the bucket list, one entry at a time

An Open Letter to My Future Husband

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Ok, so full disclosure here. This is meant to be lighthearted and funny. By no means is this a serious letter (besides, my best friends, in the tradition of Girl Code, already know these things and are prepared to tell my future husband). But, here we go.

 

Dear Future Husband,

Assuming you’ve made it to this point means you’ve met my family. I hope you’ve met my family. Your chances of being the FH (future husband) would be severely diminished if you don’t meet my family. Because family is important. Actually, it’s one of the most important things to me.

So, Future Husband, here’s some advice. My family is crazy. They are loud and in-your-face and everyone knows everyone’s business. And I love them for it. I get to criticize my family. But until you actually become part of this family, you don’t. But meeting my family can get intense. There will be a thousand people all talking at once (yelling if we’re meeting the Italian side). They will ask you uncomfortable questions in rapid-fire sequence. I’m sorry for that; I’ll try to run interference, but no promises. But, if you laugh and joke with them, you’re in. If you can give as good as you get when it comes to teasing, you’re in. And, if you like our food, you’re definitely in.

So meet my family. Talk golf with my dad and grandfather. Eat my mom’s cooking. Make pleasant conversation with my grandma. Shake their hands firmly.Be confident. Look them in the eye. If you don’t my dad will judge you and a man without a good handshake has no business being my husband.

And please, for the love of God, the first time you meet them, wear khakis or nice jeans. Put on a polo or a button down. Wait until we’re married to break out the ripped jeans and Ed Hardy t-shirts (actually, you should never wear Ed Hardy t-shirts. Ever.) But the point is, my family is old school. And good impressions and nice clothing will go a long way.

Know that I am Daddy’s Little Girl. I am an only child. My parents and I are very close. And there will be a long line of people ready to take to to task if you ever hurt me. But, I’m assuming that this won’t be a problem if you’re in the FH stage.

If you’re looking for a woman who will stay home, cook, clean and expect me to “defer” to you, keep walking. Actually, run away because you don’t want to know how angry I’ll be if you mention this. I am an independent woman, and no, I don’t need you. But, I’m choosing to be with you because I believe you make my life better. So respect that. I will have a career. And we are equals. In every single sense of the word.

I hope you want kids. Because I want kids. I want our kids to have the wonderful life that I did. I want to travel with our kids. I want to take vacations to Italy and Spain and Nepal with our kids.

In case you didn’t realize, your wife-to-be has a serious case of wanderlust. So travel with me. Go backpacking in crappy hostels with me when we have no money. Travel to luxury hotels with me when we do. Road trip with me. Go adventuring with me.

I get cranky when I’m hungry or tired. Every time. Keep me on a regular sleep and eating schedule. Seriously. Throw some granola bars in your glove compartment or something. Disclaimer: I can’t be held accountable for any threats I make while hungry.

My mood directly correlates to my coffee intake. If I’m drinking a medium or grande, everything is right with the world and all is good. If I’m drinking a large or a venti, you should run the other way. And if I don’t have any coffee, you should buy me a large/venti and then run the other way. Trust me, this is for your own good.

I separate my laundry into 6 different piles. It’s the only way I know how to do laundry. And until we’re engaged, I probably won’t let you touch my laundry. It weirds me out. But, you can’t judge because that means your white t-shirts will never end up pink. I hate going up escalators. I am deathly afraid that I will fall backwards and split my head open. So stand behind me. I hate revolving doors. I don’t know why. So humor me when I go out of my way to avoid them.

I am a dog person, and I don’t like cats. Yellow labs are preferable. But as long as we don’t have a tiny dog that could be mistaken for a rat, we’re ok.

You probably know this by now, but I’m a cheap date. I’d much rather you take me out for burgers and a beer than a five-course meal at an excessively decadent French restaurant (that’s not to say I don’t love dressing up, because I do. But I’m more comfy in my ripped up jeans). Take me to a baseball game, a football game or a movie. I’d much rather that than the opera. I love old, familiar sports bars and Irish pubs. I love Billy Joel and Springsteen concerts. But, I hope you’re willing to spend an equal number of weekends watching Netflix as you are going out.

Yes, I want us to be equal, but when we first start dating, open the doors for me. Let me go in first. Help me with my coat and pull out my chair. And you sure as hell better pay for our first date or you won’t get a second date. Yes, I know, I know. This is old-fashioned. But chivalry is not dead, and when you grow up with a father who does all of these things for your mother, you tend to have high and uncompromising standards. After we start dating, let me pick up the check now and then. Or at least pay half. Because truly, I’m fine with that.

I’m perfectly fine with you having boys’ night because that gives me chance to have girls’ night. And no, we probably aren’t going to talk about you. I love hockey jerseys and football jerseys and baseball t-shirts, and I’ll wear them often. They’re kind of the most comfortable clothing ever. And while we’re on that subject, I’m going to steal your sweatshirts. And your sweatpants. And probably a t-shirt or two. Just accept it now.

I love watching sports. I hope you’re a Steelers/Pens fan. If you’re not, we might be able to make it work, but for the love of God, if you root for Baltimore or Dallas, you might as well keep on walking. When Penn State football is on, don’t talk to me unless you’re sitting on the couch right next to me, screaming at the TV. Make sure you block out a couple of weekends in your fall to make the trip to Happy Valley for some PSU games.

I love my Alma Mater, and if I’m lucky, it’s your Alma Mater too. But if not, that’s ok. You’ll be bleeding blue and white soon enough.

I love bookstores and coffee shops, especially when they’re together. Take me to a bookstore and turn me loose for an hour then buy me some coffee. Your brownie points will go through the roof (if you do this as a first date, I might propose then and there).

Speaking of proposals, if you’re going to do it in a public place, make sure you’ve talked to me about it first. Nobody wants to deal with the awkwardness of refusing. But preferably, do it somewhere that means something to the both of us. And get it on video. When we start planning the wedding, I want you to feel involved and have a say. That is, in every aspect except my dress. You don’t get a say and and you don’t get to see it. I’m not dropping 5 grand on a dress for you. I’m dropping 5 grand on a dress for me. This is the one area that is non-negotiable. I will buy a dress that I love and that I feel comfortable. And I will look damn good in it.

Honesty is important. Don’t lie to me. Ever. (Exceptions are made for surprises and Christmas presents). But for the big stuff, don’t lie. Talk to me (even if you think I’ll be upset), and we’ll figure it out together. It’s you and me against the world, and I’ll always stand beside you. But you better not lie. Loyalty is important. Like, majorly important. I’m nobody’s second choice, and I will kick you ass if you cheat on me. Then, all my friends and family will kick your ass. Then, I will dump said ass and find someone better.  On this, you have my guarantee. The only woman you’re allowed to love more than me is our daughter.

I’m crazy and I drink too much coffee and I have a lot of weird quirks. But, I’m assuming that if you’re the Future Husband, you know these things (and everything listed above) already. So congratulations for putting up with my weird self.

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This entry was posted on May 5, 2014 by and tagged , .
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