January 27, 2016

Dear Future Husband

I’m writing this because despite a monumentally horrific history with men, I still kinda hope you’re actually out there. AND if you are actually out there, then you probably need a bit of warning before you marry me..

So, first off, I get hangry. It’s a well known fact for those who know me. If I’m hungry, throw food at me and run away until I’ve eaten it. I can be the most miserable cowbag when I’m in need of a food fix. And yes, I’m eating healthy right now – two salads a day, but I recommend you spend as much time at the gym/with your mates as possible when I’m on a diet. It aint pretty.

Likewise if I’m tired, then I’m grumpy. Like, really grumpy. You’ll know because I’ll put my hoody on and lose the ability to speak in anything other than one word sentences. I’ll also struggle to reign in my sarcasm.

I’m going to turn to you at random times and ask you the weirdest questions. We might be watching a romantic film and I’ll want to know your thoughts on the refugee crisis. Or you’ll be trying to go to sleep and I won’t let you, because I want you to talk to me about a news story we saw two weeks ago. Just go with it – I’m random. I like talking.

When we’re dating I will always wash and do my hair before you come over and I’ll probably pretend that I haven’t. However when we move in together, don’t expect me to come home from work and do it. It’s okay when I’ve got an hour or two to preen myself before you visit, but if we live together and I’ve got 15 minutes before you get home? Yeh, that’s not happening.

When we’re picking a Saturday night film, I’m going to always pick the action packed blockbuster over the girlie romantic type. I’ll also probably want to stay up and watch the boxing when it’s on. Sorry, not sorry.

I’ll refer to my Twitter/Blogger friends as ‘my friends’ because that’s what they are. If you tell me they can’t be real friends because we haven’t physically met – then you’re probably unlikely to get laid. For at least a week. Or two.

When I get dressed up for us to go out, it’s all for you. Well, and for me. I like to look good for me as much as for you. Plus, there’s no chance you’ll appreciate this perfectly winged eyeliner is there?

I don’t mind emptying the bin. But if I do, you can iron your own shirts matey. It’s all about give and take.

If you don’t make me look at you like this, we’re not getting married..

£100 to get my hair cut and coloured is totally normal. Accept this. Plus my nails, and sometimes my tan, and sometimes my lashes…yeh…lets just not talk about the total cost. Kisses!

I buy men’s t-shirts and hoodies to wear around the house, and to bed, because they are just so much more comfortable when they’re baggy. No, they do not belong to my ex so don’t be getting the hump. I genuinely bought them myself. And they’re staying too.

You might be relegated to the main bathroom and not the en-suite if you mess it up. Know what I’m saying?

Put the toilet seat down. There’s two of us here. If you repeatedly forget, I’ll ‘forget’ to buy your wine/beer at the supermarket next week and buy the one I like, but you hate. Fairsies.

I’m happy to come and support you in your hobby – football, rugby – anything. I’ll even cheer you on, I’ll be your biggest cheerleader. I might moan about being cold though.

When I’m PMT’d I won’t have a clue what I want. One minute I’ll want to cry at that puppy advert on TV, next I’ll want to drop-kick said TV out of the window because the Sky box didn’t record my program yesterday. I will change my mind about what I fancy for dinner about six times a day. I will also go from being insanely happy and wanting cuddles – to wanting alone time to sulk and hate the world. Cheers mother nature!

I will regard my blog like another child. It’s precious, I’ve raised it from birth. Don’t ever say anything bad/constructive about it. It took a lot for me to show it to you. Especially don’t say anything bad/constructive about it if I’m PMT’d. God bless your soul if you do.

I’m unlikely to ever want to share cake with you. I will do it, but I’ll never actually want to.

Sometimes I can’t hold my sarcasm in. Please don’t judge me. Or hate me. It won’t last long, sometimes it’s like sarcastic tourettes. Once it’s out, I feel so much better.

If you can accept all of this then I promise to be the most loyal, loving, honest and caring wifey ever. I’ll even occasionally make you breakfast in bed, don brand new slinky numbers from Victoria’s Secret and I promise to laugh at your mum’s jokes. Win/win right?

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