Future Husband, When Life Gives You Lemons

Dear Future Husband,
I have three questions for you. While growing up, did you ever:

1. Attend a garage sale?
2. Take a vacation?
3. Combine the two for an epic family trip?

The Waitins did.

When I was eight-ish, we took a “family vacation” to the world’s longest yard sale. The “someone’s trash is someone else’s treasure…but that someone else was NOT us” sale literally spanned six states. And this was before the days of portable DVD players and in-car entertainment systems. OUR entertainment was finding license plates. Did you ever play that game? Of course you did. Well, we found all 50 on that trip. Twice. I remember telling my dad to “SPEED UP!” on the interstate because I wanted to pass as many cars as possible to see as many license plates as possible. (This did not carry into adulthood…I will most likely tell you to “SLOW DOWN!”)

We also played the “numbers” game. My dad would pick a number and we would try to guess it. Yep…that was actually a game. The rules were a bit ambiguous though, because 5-ish year old Sheesa would internally pick a number, and then a new number, and then a new number while we all tried to guess said number. After we guessed every number between 1 and 100, she won the round…err…we gave up.

But the HIGHLIGHT of the trip was our lemonade stand. You see, my Mother was ECSTATIC for this road trip. Nothing excited her more than the prospect/reality of sorting through mounds of treasure crap in three different states. (OK, full disclosure, my mother DID co-own an antique business that needed restocking…so, her enthusiasm was not without total merit.) But, my dad, early on in the trip, had the epiphany that this “vacay” would be downright boring for two small children. So, since we LOVED road trip games, he invented a new one: the sell lemonade while you travel game.

At each stop, we set up a stand, and then I eagerly approached EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. I could see to ask if they wanted to buy lemonade. I even walked up to people who were already standing in the concessions line. My dad, fearful of reproach from the concessions selling people, tried to discourage me. I told him that they were in line and, therefore, must want something to drink. I knew my target audience.

I also approached people who ALREADY had drinks in their hands. My dad thought I might annoy them, so he tried to shift my focus to different consumers. I told him that although these people had drinks, they didn’t have LEMONADE. And maybe they WANTED lemonade. I knew I had a niche product.

I must have been a good little salesperson (or really cute) because we made over $70.00 selling lemonade at $.25 a cup. And I sold it all…Sheesa tried to help, but she wasn’t the hustler that I was. People would approach her and BEG her to sell them a glass, but she just stared.

Now, I know we took many family vacations over the years, but, for some reason, this one always stands out. And, while I love remembering this trip, I can’t wait to plan NEW adventures with OUR future family. And don’t worry, you will be relieved to know that, while I may be a LOT like my mother, I have ZERO desire to sort through treasure crap in six different states again…unless you really want to. But be warned, it will take much more than lemonade to placate me this time.

PS. My mother will want you to know that they didn’t ONLY subject us to yard sales on this vacation…they DID sprinkle in a few attractions along the way. They just don’t make for good stories.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, When Life Gives You Lemons

Future Husband, Please Be Courteous

Dear Future Husband,
Before proceeding with this post, I’d like to extend my sincerest apologies to my mother, who would be downright mortified that her Southern Belle Debutante Daughter (yes, I was a deb, I’ll tell you about it another time) would ever even CONSIDER discussing such a grotesque and inappropriate topic with her future husband. Whatever.

Ok, back to you, Future Husband. Using my deductive reasoning skills, I already know something about you.

All the men I know STILL find flatulence funny/entertaining/downright HILARIOUS.
You are a man. (duh)
Therefore, you, too, will get a kick out of farting.

Farting sounds repulsive, so, from here on out, I will refer to it as “tooting.”

Knowing this, I also suspect that, the closer we get relationally, the more comfortable you’ll feel including me in this practice. As in,

FH: “Hey, Ima! Did you hear that?”
Ima: “No, hear what, lovely Future Husband?”
Ima: “Thank you for that, disgusting Future Husband.”

So, I come into this relationship prepared. It’s time that I introduce you to the “courtesy sniff.” Get ready, it’s going to be a thing.

You see, toots are probably comprised of tiny particles, right? Therefore, if you remove the tiny particles, then you also remove the atrocious odor, right? (I’m also good at inductive reasoning). And, I figure that one can remove the tiny toot particles by smelling them. If YOU smell them all up…I won’t have to.

Therefore, when you proudly toot in my presence, I will immediately yell, “COURTESY SNIFF!” and I 100% expect you to take the BIGGEST sniff EVER and immediately vacuum up your own toot with your own nose. I’m not even kidding.

PS. This does not apply to me as I NEVER toot – I WAS a deb, after all.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, Please Be Courteous

Future Husband, I Don’t Do Taxes

Dear Future Husband,
Remember that time I introduced you to my mother? Well, given that tax day is RIGHT around the corner, I think it’s time that you also met my dad. (And no, contrary to what you MIGHT be thinking, I do NOT call him father. Yeah, yeah…I know. “Mother and Dad” doesn’t easily roll off the tongue but, WHAT in these letters leads you to believe that I do ANYTHING conventionally?!)

Anyhoo, I chose tax season for this particular introduction because my dad is a tax attorney. Why in the world anyone would choose to practice tax law is COMPLETELY beyond my comprehension. But, I’m glad he did, and I’m glad he does. I’m glad because, I DON’T HAVE TO DO MY TAXES!

I mean, yes…I have to PAY them, but I don’t have to DO them. He (lovingly) does them for me. You know the “Freedom” chorus from Arthea Franklin’s hit Think? Yep…that’s my anthem this time of year.

But, I hope you recognize what this really means. Once we’re married, YOU will NEVER have to do YOUR taxes again EITHER! Just let that sink in.

Sunk? Good.

Now, I need something else to sink in. But first, get ready for a story…

When I was very young, Disney’s A Little Mermaid debuted in theaters. EVERY SINGLE LITTLE GIRL immediately fell in love with Ariel and life under the sea. Except for me. And Sheesa. Why, you ask? Because we weren’t allowed to watch it.


You see, Ariel disobeyed her dad. And that was not ok.

I vividly remember VOLUNTARILY sitting OUTSIDE of the gymnasium during carpool pick-up because the BAPTIST Mother’s Day Out program that I attended played the movie while the other kids waited. I wanted to be part of their world, but instead, I stared at the wall. Gosh I was a good child.

Obviously my lack of obedience problems can be attributed to the fact that I did not see the movie until I was mature and non-impressionable. I think my dad finally saw the absurdity of the mermaid ban because he granted me viewing permission in my 25th birthday card. Phew…glad I got the OK.

The moral of the story:
I’m a big girl now. While I definitely want his blessing, I don’t NEED his permission to get married. But YOU do. So, I’m going to be 100% clear. Before you ask me, ask him. I promise he won’t make you wait 25 years for the OK.

PS. In the event that you are a CPA or a tax attorney (which is highly possible since girls often marry men like their fathers), the above “you’ll never have to do your taxes again” spiel will not apply to you. Sorry.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, I Don’t Do Taxes

Future Husband, It Went Kerplunk

Dear Future Husband,
Something AMAZING happened today.

The day didn’t start out very special. My alarm went off, and I did what I do FIRST THING every morning when I wake up: I immediately took a nap. Some people call it “snoozing,” but snoozing for 30 minutes sounds lazy…napping for 30 minutes, on the other hand, sounds insanely satisfying. Don’t you agree?

If you’re one of those annoyingly perky morning people who NEVER hits snooze, we can talk about my am napping habits once we’re married and co-habitating. Until that time, please reserve and withhold any and all comments. Thank you.

Anyway, morning rituals continued…shower, apply deodorant, brush teeth, fix hair, put on makeup, make ICED coffee, grab lunch from fridge and head to work. Nothing abnormal or exciting.

But then THIS happened: I went to the restroom.

Don’t get your panties in a twist (hehe)…I’m not going to give details. But the visit was a bit special.

PAUSE! You should know that I put my cell phone in my back pocket when I’m not sitting at my desk. UNPAUSE!

Well, at that moment, I forgot that my phone was in my back pocket, and it – YEP – went KERPLUNK in the toilet. NOOOOOO!!!! Like COMPLETELY submerged. It even made a splashing sound.

The first thought that went through my head was, “CRAP!” quickly followed by “THANK HEAVENS the kerplunking happened BEFORE…well…you know before what.” (I didn’t feel AS gross fishing it out.)

The next thought that went through my head was, “What story am I going to make up to tell the AT&T guy why I need a new phone?”

But then, a miracle happened! I pressed the button, and my phone lit up. I opened an app, and the app opened. I made a phone call, and someone picked up! WHAT!?

And then came the revelation: I have the ONE AND ONLY waterproof iPhone in the WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD!

Surely this remarkable iPhone was specifically crafted for some incredibly important and handsome super hero, right?! (…hint hint…Oliver Queen…”) And, this phone is his key to staying connected while he saves the world. AND at ANY minute, he could realize that there was an iPhone mixup and set off on his quest to find me and retrieve said iPhone…only to fall madly in love with me the minute our eyes meet. And then we get married and I become Mrs. Queen, and we live happily ever after…

…wait…I’m vaguely remembering a similar story occurring in the dream from my nap this morning. And my aspirations for marrying the Arrow go KERPLUNK down the toilet once again.

PS. The kerplunk and working iPhone parts are 100% true.
PSS. I OBVIOUSLY cleaned my phone and phone case. I might be a napper, but I have my standards.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, It Went Kerplunk