I have been looking for you for fifteen fucking years. Different cities, different scenes. I dated a crackhead and a needle junkie, thinking they might be you. I went on dates with hundreds of girls. I went to every party, every bar, every class, every stupid fucking extracurricular activity looking for you. I was in a bunch of bands; I figured you might show up. I got a job in the movies so I would seem cool when I met you. I learned how to cook. I toiled at the gym for hundreds and hundreds of tedious hours so you would be pleasantly surprised when I took my shirt off. And still, to this day, I go out almost every goddamn night to some sadass sausage fest in the faint hope that you might be there. So how about this. How about YOU start fucking looking for ME. Whatever I’m doing is obviously not right and I’m not going to join a goddamn quilting class or something. I’m done. I’m going to be at my apartment playing Xbox and why don’t you just show up and fucking knock. I’m tired of paying all this rent.
3 Responses to “To My Future Wife”
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She’s probably sitting at home wondering why she’d have to lose weight for you to want her.
Because fat women are unattractive. Just like short men are unattractive, only that short men can’t do anything about their height.
Just sayin, he’s gonna end up with a fatty.