The other day, I read a 'Letter To My Husband Who I Haven't Met Yet'. I always enjoy proclamations of love to hypothetical people. I see them a lot on dating sites.
My hobbies are cooking and hanging with you! (Really? We haven't met!) I will treat you like a princess! (Oh gosh, please don't.)
And so, I have been inspired to write my own letter. Now, I don't actually want a new husband – I've had quite enough of those – but a boyfriend might be nice. So here it is. A Letter To The Boyfriend I Haven't Met Yet.
Dear Hypothetical Man,
So… I'm not sure whether you exist. If you do, that's lovely. But if you don't, that's fine too. Of course, it does make this letter existentially problematic – I mean, who am I even writing to? – but I'm okay either way. Most of the time, anyway. I did long for you quite desperately yesterday, when the cat brought in a mouse and I was running around the house with a broom screaming. I'm capable and resilient and independent and all that, but god I wish you were here to deal with the rodents. I'll handle the insects and spiders and telemarketers and armed intruders. I think that's fair, don't you?
I have occasionally wondered what you look like. I haven't had a physical type up until now. And yes, it would be great if you were hot, but I know by now that really doesn't matter. Character is far more important. I used to think my ex-husband was cute, but after a while I couldn't have cared what he looked like, I just wanted him to pick his bloody undies off the floor and stop snoring.
Was that insensitive? I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear about my ex. But I'm a little bit fascinated with yours. Not, like, in a stalker way (though I do hope her Facebook privacy isn't set to high, that is always so annoying). It's so weird to think you're out there living a whole other life right now. Probably with other women. As I am, too. (Minus the women. I have explained I'm not into that, right? I'm sure you'll ask. Men always do.)
I can't wait to find out how we meet. I bet it isn't on a dating site. All those creepy men with sedated tigers, all those "easygoing men" who "love life", all those hungry-eyed men who claim to be "technically separated"… My god, if I find you there, it will be a bloody miracle.
Then again, meeting you will be a miracle, however it happens. The longer I've been dating, the more I wonder how anyone manages to fall in love at all at our age. It seems so improbable. We all have so much baggage, so many expectations, so many thoughts and feelings and desires – so many experiences! So many kids! - it seems impossible to mesh our lives with someone else's.
Speaking of kids, you probably have some, don't you? I wonder if they'll like me. I wonder if I'll like them. What if I don't? What if I can't stand them? Can you love someone and hate their kids?
And I wonder what my kids will think about you. I hope you cope okay with my lot. Try not to let the little one intimidate you, okay? She can smell weakness, you know. And fear.
Sometimes I wonder how I'll even fit you into my life. It's not that I'm that busy – I make time for a little nap most afternoons – but have grown very fond of my own space and my own bed. (I slept on the right when I was married. Now I sleep on the left. And the right. And the middle. Maybe you could sleep on the floor?)
Still, it would be very nice to know you'll be around one day. And fear not. I'm usually pretty low maintenance. I just need a good night's sleep, my coffee infusions, and my afternoon nap, and I'm a total delight. (And if all that fails, the chocolate is on the top shelf of the fridge.)
Oh, and finally: Honey, your penis is fine. You don't need to ask. Though I know you will.
Your Princess. (Ugh. I'm joking! Don't you dare.)