A letter to my future husband

Dear Mssr. Corey,

Oh what a joy it will be waking up in the middle of the night to my ramblings of crackers, make believe animals, and other such nonsense while I drool all over myself.

How excited you must be to partake in soggy rice, over cooked eggs, and interesting new recipes using rarely paired ingredient combinations.

And I, equally, cannot wait to wake up to Sports Center, eat breakfast to the Weather Channel, relax to horse racing, eat dinner to ESPN and fall asleep to the game of the day.

I look forward to your nightly rants about the office, the losing team, the guy who cut you off in traffic, and the Starbucks employee who gave you a carmel-mochachino-latte instead of a carmel-macchiato-double foam.

You'll be glad to know I am only bringing 20 pairs of shoes, 30 purses, two closets full of clothes, and approximately 950 pounds of books.

I have also reduced my knick-knacks to only the most essential: paper mache flamingo, ceramic fish on a pedestal, jar of California shells, and 25 stuffed animals.

So I will see you at the altar in 87 days, and maybe we can get a coffee before then.

Love,

Beetle