Future Husband, I Promise I Don’t Have Cooties

Dear Future Husband,

I came to the shocking and disappointing conclusion that I, unfortunately, peaked in the…wait for it…second grade. I’m not even kidding. I OWNED my eighth year of life. I had so many suitors that even Marilyn Monroe, Taylor Swift (or insert your favorite female Casanova here) would have taken notes.

I clearly remember receiving beautifully wrapped earrings from a young man-boy after children’s church one Sunday. He presented them to me in front of the whole class…kid had guts. His parents said that he saved for WEEKS to buy those iron-pressed, plastic beaded earrings. I threw an epic tantrum when I got home because my parents refused to take me STRAIGHT to the mall to pierce my ears. I think they were trying to teach me some important lesson about not changing my body for boys…I just thought they were mean. Seriously. Those earrings were the most beautiful things I had ever seen until…

…a cute (different) boy from school sent me a love letter, a ring and a beaded cross necklace in the mail over the summer. Jewelry I could actually wear! And with a hand-written love note?! Score!

And how could I forget the pride I felt when another boy in my class called me a “total babe” after taking a peek at my elegantly posed class picture? That blue-and-white polka dot dress with bunnies and carrots was DEFINITELY babe-worthy. 

I should also mention the young gent who chased me around the playground and stole my first kiss (on the cheek) AND my adorably handsome crush who excitedly sat next to me at lunch Every. Single. Day. Now THAT’S what you call commitment. I also fondly remember him “rescuing” me many times during recess because I informed him that we WERE playing damsel in distress and it was his DUTY to come to my aid.

I’m quite certain my dad was very nervous at this stage of my life. I’m sure he thought he was going to have to fight off boys with a stick as I matured. But then something happened:

The third grade.

And apparently that is the year that girls get cooties. Sigh. 

PS. Don’t worry, my parents finally let me pierce my ears so I can definitely wear those gorgeous diamond studs that you’ll buy me one day.

PSS. Please save for more than a few weeks to buy those diamonds…(and I say that in the least materialistic way possible).

Xoxo,

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, I Promise I Don’t Have Cooties

Future Husband, I’m Getting Whiplash

Dear Future Husband,

I quit. I quit ALLL the dating sites. It’s just not my jam…at least right now. In a few months (or weeks…or even days), I may completely change my mind (you’ll get used to it). But for now, it’s not for me.

When telling my friends that I quit, I typically get the same response:

“Good for you! It will happen when you’re least expecting it…these things usually/ALWAYS happen when you’re not looking.”

Now, usually, my response would be:

“Yeah. Right. Tell a single girl in her 30’s ‘not to look for it.’ You might as well tell her not to breathe….”

But today, I’m going to try something different. I am hereby making a formal announcement to YOU, dear Future Husband, to God and country:

AS OF THIS VERY MOMENT, I AM OFFICIALLY LEAST EXPECTING IT

You may now come out of left field and sweep me off my feet. Heck, be spontaneous and come out of RIGHT field for all I care. Hopefully you get the point.

PS. You might owe me a few neck massages once we meet…due to whiplash which was certainly NOT caused by me consistently looking over my left (and/or right) shoulder.

Xoxo,
Ima Waitin

Future Husband, I’m Getting Whiplash