TO MY FUTURE HUSBAND: The Stranger You Married


Hello, boo . . .

It’s me — your significantly better other — again at that time of the week where I convey my loving thoughts to you in missile missive form. I have some thoughts I’d like to throw your way and, by ‘thoughts’, I refer to wholly democratic decisions taken solely by me, with me, and for me.

Ready? 🤷‍♀️

You won’t know every side of me, darling — not even after we’ve been married for years forever. I plan to surprise you all the time, in fact, so if ever you wake up in the middle of the night to find me mixing some weird concoction, wearing a crooked hat and stroking a white cat with an evil hand while shrieking some weird incantation, act like you’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary and just go back to sleep. It’s safer — for you — that way. 😒

Just keep in mind that you don’t need to solve every mystery. You are no Sherlock; if either of us is, it’s me. Therefore, if you hear strange noises at odd hours or see me acting in a manner that triggers suspicion – like, say, dragging a human body-ish structure clad in a body bag into the basement — you can do one of two things:

First, keep your mouth shut and help me if I’m obviously struggling with the aforementioned load, and you might get one of your favorite dishes as dinner for a reward. Alternatively, just keep quiet and watch me do my thing. There is only one answer to any questions you might be inclined to ask if such a situation ever arises: whoever the person in the body bag is, they deserved what they got. Let some mystery remain unsolved, okay?

That’s the beauty of romance, after all. 💁‍♀️

On some rare — maybe solitary — occasion that I wake you up with breakfast in bed, you’d do well to chomp on every bite with great relish. No “this tastes funny” or “why do I feel light-headed all of a sudden” remarks, neither do I expect you to ask silly questions like “why is my body going numb?” or “why does this taste like arsenic?” or “why is this making me foam at the mouth?”

It’s not like I’m going to let you die, anyway, so just allow me to experiment every now and then, love.

We’re not done here, of course, as there’s even more coming your way next week. Till then . . .

Your wife-in-hell-waiting,
Nadia 😘

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