Dear Future

Dear Future Husband,
So I’m a little drunk and a lotta crazy right now, having just been to what was the last of the weddings of my formerly-single friends.
At the wedding the bride told the story of how she kept a diary, throwing all her ideas of a husband out to the universe. Then Brian rocked up three months later.
Turns out – the Universe delivers.
They gifted us all journals, telling us to write down our deepest desires.
Me? At twenty-eight and three quarters, all I want is someone to watch Netflix with and occasionally rub my feet.
I’m mad at you, Future Husband! Mad! You’re missing out on prime love-making years!
Seriously, you’re missing out on all the awesomeness that is me.
Get your act together man!

Dear Future Wife,
So my friend Brian handed out wish journals at his wedding telling us to write down what we want.
I kind of just want someone to watch action movies with and make dinner for occasionally.
I’m not a player – oh, how you’ll realise that when you meet me – but I’m a good guy. I smile a lot, I’m a great friend. I don’t cheat, even when playing Monopoly against five-year-olds (Let them learn to fear my awesome, I say).
Anyway, we going to meet or what?

Dear Future Husband,
Look, it’s been, like, three months of shipping my desires out to the universe and in that time all I’ve managed to get are three below par dates and one guy vomiting on my shoes.
The shoes are a write-off.
Honestly? I’m starting to think you don’t exist.
It shouldn’t be that hard to find a guy between 25-34 yrs, average height, employed or studying, with little-to-no conviction history.
I’m not even asking for no Mummy issues!

Dear Future Wife,
I had a date tonight which ended with the woman leaving with our bartender. I assume that means this journal won’t be finding its way into her hands.
I assume I’m not completely heinous. I mean, I can carry on a conversation about movies, and world politics and religion and I even read fifty shades of grey and would be willing to attempt to try some of the positions and scenarios should we make it to the bedroom.
I mean, the rope stuff sounds fun.

Dear Future Husband,
One year. One year since the wedding in which I was gifted this journal, and still you have chosen to not appear.
Guess I’ll be going to the baby shower for Brian and Chelle stag. Again.

Dear Future Wife,
Online dating is not your thing, huh?
I get it, I too am intimidated by the Tinders and the Grinders and the other apps which require people to rate you at the touch of a swipe.
But seriously. How am I meant to find you?
Smoke signals?
Brian and Chelle keep telling me to be patient and you will come. Easy for them to say – today’s their baby shower.

Dear Future Husband,

Dear Future Wife,

Dear Husband,

Dear Wife,
I’ll make dinner.

Kim Congram © 2017


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