a letter.

future husband,


i know i seem pretty great. but here's the thing... i talk to my food. sometimes i sing to it. i won't talk to you in the morning for a good half hour. to get dressed, i'll have to take almost half my clothes out of the closet and throw them on the bed. i fall down in dramatic pain nearly every time i stub my toe. i paint my nails a lot, even though the smell will probably annoy you. i like some really terrible movies and i'll make you watch them. i'll also expect you to laugh at the appropriate times. i hate choosing the restaurant. hate it. you'll have to do it every single time. i'll sing Baby to you. all the time. i'm sort of needy and will need you to cuddle with me possibly daily. i'll pout when the kitchen is messy and get annoyed if the house is too cold.


here's the other thing, though. i won't eat the last of the dessert if i know it's something you really really like. i hate vegetables, but i'll try to learn to cook them if you like them. i'm up for anything (assuming it's not sports related). you want to see how fast we can re-watch LOST? i will sit on the couch with you for hours. you want to go on a diner tour of the state? i call shotgun. i won't steal all the blankets. i'll make a really big deal out of your birthday. i'll do the laundry if you take out the garbage. i'll alphabetize your books and cds and records. i'll bring snacks to church and i'll always always go to village inn at 2 am with you.

basically, sorry you have to deal with my crazy. but i'm betting you have your own list of quirks. because what are the chances i would have married you if you were normal?

always,
Lacy