Future Husband, It’s Our Year

Dear Future Husband,
Unbeknown to you, you are often the topic of conversation in my life…shocker. I don’t MEAN to talk about you, it just kind of happens…especially with my girlfriends. And my mother. And my mother’s girlfriends. And my girlfriends’ mothers. You get the picture. Everyone wants to know who are you. And more importantly, WHERE YOU ARE.

Anyway, my very encouraging friend and I were conversing at Chick-fil-A over lunch the other day.

Side note: I have a slight obsession with the Chick. The lady at the drive thru window, miiiight know my name. And miiiight know that I ALWAYS order a large unsweet iced tea with a splash of sweet. And miiiight see me regularly enough to notice – and comment – every single time I trim my hair.
Double side note: If the lady at the Chick drive thru window knows how I drink my iced tea and notices when I change my hair, you better also…I DO plan to see you more regularly than I see her…at least I hope…

Anyway AGAIN, my very encouraging friend and I were conversing at Chick-fil-A over lunch the other day.

We first talked about her ACTUAL husband and then starting talking about you. It was a nice conversation. I surprisingly felt encouraged, and the convo did not end in me becoming a nun this time. Phew.

As we were walking out, she looked at me and said, “Ima, I have a feeling that 2017 is going to be YOUR year. I think he’s coming soon.”

To which I replied, “Haha, yes. I hope so. But then again, that’s what everyone said to me LAST year.”

WITHOUT HESITATION or SKIPPING A BEAT, my very encouraging friend very confidently and emphatically responded with:

“Nah. I didn’t feel that way for you last year.”


I needed clarification.

So, I looked at my very encouraging friend and asked, “You mean to tell me that every single time you’ve audibly encouraged me in the past 12 months by saying ‘Your time is coming soon,’ you immediately followed up said encouragement with the silent thought, ‘But it sure as heck ain’t happening THIS year!’ ?!?!?!?”

To which she replied, “I’m going to read about this in your blog, huh?”


PS. There is still a couple of days left in 2016. By all means, feel free to prove her wrong.
PSS. I still love my very encouraging friend…you will too.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, It’s Our Year

Future Husband, Let’s Have Fun

Dear Future Husband,
Inevitably, on every first date, I am asked the following question:

“So, what do you do for fun??”

As soon as the words are uttered, I IMMEDIATELY panic as I simultaneously internalize my entire existence, which usually ends in me feeling like the most BORING PERSON EVER. I mean, I think I’m loads of fun, but OMG THE PRESSURE!

But, when presented with such a personality-defining question, one cannot remain silent.

So, I simply respond, “I write.”

Which usually leads to, “About what?”


“Well, you see, I write these letters about my dating life to my currently non-existent Future Husband, whom you just MIGHT be, but I have no idea as this is only our first encounter, and then I post them for the world to read since I obviously cannot share them with him at the moment. So, if you’re NOT my Future Husband, would you at least do something interesting/entertaining so that I have fodder for my next post??”


And maybe that’s why I’m still single.

PS. I’m not dumb…I would never tell you about my blog on the first date: I’d let you find it on Facebook instead.
PSS. On the off chance that you would actually appreciate the above, you TRULY are my Future Husband.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, Let’s Have Fun

Future Husband, Don’t Mess with the Dino

Dear Future Husband,
It’s almost October, which means it’s almost the month of my birth. As a result, I think this is a GREAT time to tell you about my dinosaur obsession.

That I had when I was three years old.

Actually, that I had when I was two-and-three-quarters-years-old and in the midst of birthday party planning.

I have NO idea where my dino love originated, but my toddler self made it 100% clear to my mother that I wanted a dinosaur-themed shindig. And, of course, as the sole center of my mother’s world (Sheesa was still in the womb at this time), she (probably questioningly) obliged.

So, my mother and I meandered to the one and only (and incredibly expensive) party store in town to collect dino napkins, plates, party bags and any other prehistoric elements we could find. The perusing was going well UNTIL something bright and colorful caught my eye: the piñata aisle.

I have to admit, my two-and-three-quarters-year-old self did not truly understand the meaning of “theme” and couldn’t comprehend that piñatas didn’t belong in the mesozoic era. ALL I knew was piñatas were pretty. And I wanted one – a DINOSAUR one.

Now, I have to hand it to my mother. This was long before the days of Etsy and online shopping (and the Internet in general), so you couldn’t just surf the web to find whatever item you wanted themed to whatever theme you wanted. You either bought what was available OR made it at home (with no step-by-step Pinterest guide). Well, there wasn’t a dinosaur piñata to be found, so the crafting began.

I actually remember making that paper mache brachiosaurus piñata on the kitchen table. We soaked strips of newspaper in glue and then covered a balloon with SO. MANY. LAYERS. Then, we attached toilet paper rolls for the legs and paper towel rolls for the neck and tail. And finally, painted it green. It was spectacular.

As I OOOed and AWWWed over my BEAUTIFUL dinosaur, my mother, in THAT moment, had a disturbing revelation: Her two-and-three-quarters-year-old daughter had absolutely ZERO idea what the fate of that piñata would be…

So, she sat me down and explained that we were going to beat my beautiful and perfect dinosaur to a pulp with sticks until it bled candy.

Just kidding.

I’m clearly a well-functioning adult, so I’m sure she found a less violent and traumatic explanation. But, the point being – I got the point.

My mother says that my eyes got SUPER big, and I ADAMANTLY stated that “NO ONE was going to hit MY dinosaur with a stick!”

So, after ALL that, there was no dinosaur piñata at my third birthday party. But there WAS a beautiful brachiosaurus table centerpiece.

PS. The minute my party was over, I outgrew my dinosaur obsession. You’re welcome. Or, pending your love for dinos, I’m sorry.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, Don’t Mess with the Dino

Future Husband, You Can Handle IT

Dear Future Husband,
I could have REALLY used your help around 11:23pm the other night.

I was getting ready for bed and had just washed my face. I was reaching for the towel hanging over my shower rod when I noticed IT.

IT = the biggest, ugliest, yellowest and orangest (I just created a word) spider I have ever seen.

I might have cursed your unknown name at that point for forcing me to deal with IT in my helpless, very tired and female-who-hates-spiders state.

But alas, I had to do SOMETHING. I tried many different ways to knock IT from the ceiling. I removed the shower head and sprayed the ceiling (NOT the best idea…remind me to point out the decorative water stains that I’m totally blaming on you after we meet). I threw things at IT (apparently I have horrible aim when it comes to hurling near weightless objects at a targeted area). Nothing worked.

Angry or amused (I couldn’t accurately decipher IT’s feelings), IT began toying with me by descending from and re-climbing its lifeline of silk over and over again. Then, IT triumphantly returned to its original position defiantly perched on the ceiling. Back to square one.

In my now desperate state, I was – you guessed it – desperate. I had to try ONE more time. I concocted a VERY resourceful plan involving my hairspray can. I removed the lid, filled it with water, got close to IT and forcefully splashed IT off the ceiling. VICTORY!

The problem: everything that went up, of course, came down. On my head. And I freaked out.

After doing a little frantic (ok, a LOT frantic) dance, I saw IT on the shower floor. And under the hairspray can lid IT went…until the morning.

…..break for 7 hours of IT-infested dreams….

I awoke the next morning not rested in the least, but ready for round two nonetheless. I called my mother to tell her about the incident, and when she learned that I had kept IT imprisoned all night and had not yet released IT, her words were – and I quote – “Sooner better than later — poor IT is prob hungry. And scared.”

And now, I ACTUALLY began EMPATHIZING with IT, and completely felt bad for inducing starvation and panic on this poor, helpless creature.

So, I slipped some paper under the hairspray can lid and carefully took IT outside to set IT free.

As soon as IT realized IT was free, IT immediately began to CHARGE at me. I knocked IT back. IT charged again. I knocked IT back again. And the charge continued. And then I ran inside and slammed the door.

At this point, I was terrified that IT was going to try to come inside again, so I peeked out the front door window. And, right where IT WAS formally standing, sat a very large and satiated looking lizard.

Oops. Sorry, IT.

PS. Had you been around, the situation would not have been NEARLY as dramatic…unless you, too, are not a fan of spiders.
PSS. Even if you are NOT a fan of spiders, you will still assume spider (and lizard, frog, roach, rodent, bird, moth, anything that flies/crawls that could potentially EVER enter the house) duties, should they occur.

Ima Waitin

Future Husband, You Can Handle IT