Future Husband, DANG That Bug Spray

Dear Future Husband,
There are a lot of things that I have gotten REALLY good at in my single years: managing finances, tending to repairs around the house (i.e. paying someone else to tend to repairs around the house), hooking up electronics, taking the garbage out, etc. I have ZERO qualms about bringing these skills to our future life…minus maybe the garbage part, that’s ALL you.

HOWEVER, there is one category that I will happily hand over. Car stuff.

While I DID negotiate the price and purchase my own car, and I DO regularly schedule oil changes and trips to the carwash, I REALLY HATE IT. Like a lot. And I especially despise when something breaks down.

No matter how knowledgeable I may be about brake rotors, suspension systems, starters or timing belts, the MINUTE I step foot into an auto repair shop and open my mouth, the man behind the counter takes one look at me and says something like, “Aw, you’re cute. Let me pat you on the head before I ask you to take a seat so the real people (AKA men) can look at your car. MMMk?”

Ok. Ok. The man behind the counter usually asks what’s wrong and then takes my number and says he’ll call once they’ve taken a look, but you KNOW he MEANT the former.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I began to notice an annoying rattling in my car. It sounded like it was coming from the trunk, so I, naturally, emptied my trunk. But the noise didn’t stop. Ugh. Then, I made a special note to pinpoint when the rattling would occur. And it occurred every time I hit the brakes. Great.

So, I put on my big girl pants, made an appointment at the auto repair shop, gritted my teeth and took my car in.

A few hours later, my phone rang. I prepared myself for the worst and answered.

“Uh, Ms. Waitin? We took a look at your car, and there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with your brakes. We checked the back, and found, uhm, <insert muffled laughter> two cans of bug spray rolling around your trunk, in the spare tire area. So, uhm, that noise you heard when you hit the brakes? Yeah…that was the cans moving back and forth. BUT, while you’re here, your brake fluid tested bad, you need a new air filter, your windshield wipers could stand to be changed, and when was the last time you had an oil change?”

I wish I could insert a pic of my “I’m-2.5-seconds-away-from-punching-you-in-the-throat” face here.

But alas, I didn’t feel like fighting and just told him to take care of it all.

When I went to pick up the car, the man, obviously gloating in his victory, HAD THE NERVE to SHOW ME the old, disgusting, newly-bagged air filter. Gross. And THEN he asked me if I wanted to take it home. To which I replied, “OH YES! Please! I’d like to frame it and put it on my wall.”

I guess he didn’t realize “cute” little car-clueless girls were capable of sarcasm, because his face changed, and he said, rather sheepishly, “really?

“OF COURSE NOT. That would be ridiculous.”

So, he threw away the dirty air filter, knocked a bit off the price and gave me my keys. Buh Bye.

PS. I feel like I need to be honest and let you know that I know nothing about brake rotors, suspension systems, starters or timing belts…I just wanted to prove a point.
PSS. I DO know how to change a spark plug. And by spark plug, I mean fuse. I really hope you know more about cars than I do…

Xoxo,
Ima Waitin

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Future Husband, DANG That Bug Spray

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.”

BIG. TIME. PAUSE.

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?”

Yep.

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.

Xoxo,
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?”

YIKES. YIKES. YIKES.

“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??”

“Huh?”

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.

Xoxo,
Ima Waitin

Future Husband, Let’s Have Fun