Monday, October 22, 2012

Dear Future Boyfriend:

I wonder what you're doing right now. I don't wonder this in a creepy way - I think it's more so in an intrigued way. I wonder if you'll like my cooking. Most of the time, I can get it right you know, pancakes are my specialty. Pancakes and lasagna, not necessarily together. Sometimes I'll wing the hell out of it, mixing a ton of spices making Lord knows what; whatever is in the pantry. Sometimes I'll completely eff it up and we'll have to order pizza. I kinda hope you'll laugh at me when that happens and say "I wanted to buy us Papa Johns tonight anyway, babe."

I hope you'll love my insecurities. I promise you I will love you for that. I hope you'll listen to my story of why I am the way I am and I hope you'll tell me the story that explains why you are the way you are. I hope you'll promise to love me when I don't love myself. I hope when I say I'm not having a good makeup night, you'll tell me I'm beautiful and when I feel I'm just having a freakin' fat day, you'll shut the hell up because there is no good, genuine, true comeback for that. Love me and my fat jeans.

Be faithful to me. I don't want to worry about anything related to how your heart feels about me. It takes a lot for me to commit these days, so if I commit to you, I'll deem you worthy. I won't mess that up. I hope you'll deem me worthy as well. I hope you're a big sports fan too. I can be the "yeller at the TV" for the both of us if you want - I get into it. I will not want you to "shush" me. I'll want you to giggle to yourself and think it's cute that I just cussed out an electronic  black rectangle box mounted on the wall; at a coach who will never hear me. Better yet, I hope you're yelling too.

I want to love your parents. I want you to love mine.

Sometimes I think about you. Sometimes I wonder if I've already passed you on the street, or stood beside you in the Target line when I was buying something random like toothpaste, a space heater, and a Dr. Pepper. Sometimes I wonder if I won't meet you for another year... or if I'll meet you tomorrow. Or even if I met you 7 months ago. I replay these ideas I want to do for you in my head. When I pour my morning cup of black coffee, I think about pouring yours too. I wonder the silliest things like if you would want 1 scoop of sugar or 3. I promise I will remember these things; these small, intricate details about you.

Don't break my heart. Don't promise me broken promises.

If we run into your ex-girlfriend at the bar, I hope you know I'll be respectful. Unless she comes up to us with mascara streaming down her face begging for you back. We'll cross that bridge if we get there. And if we ever run into any of my ex's, I want you to know you are the one I will be happy I walked away and continued my day with. Oh, and I want to be silly. I need you to be cool with taking ugly pictures on my iPhone and laughing at them later. I want to make ghetto grilled cheese sandwiches in the microwave at midnight and sleep late on Saturday's until the sun's rays awake us through the drawn curtains. We can make Fruit Loops - two bowls, two spoons. I like my own bowl.

I want to be your only, but I also want you to want me to be your only. I want there to be a reason you begin your day with me on your mind and end it just the same. I want you to do all of the above because I will do all of the above for you.


A thousand times over.


@agcrute on twitter