Sometimes, when it snows, and I have to bundle up in five layers of clothing and pull on my boots and make the trek all.the.way across the parking lot and brush off just enough snow off my car so I can open the door without bringing the blizzard inside, throw my purse and lunch in, put the key in the ignition and turn on the heat so the ice can start melting off my windshield while I hack through all of it with a tiny ice scraper and try to reach all 5’2 of me across the hood to brush off all the snow with an old towel and repeat this cycle all the way around the car for 15 minutes while my thighs freeze and I can no longer feel my fingers even with gloves on before crawling into my toasty car to rest for a few seconds before actually leaving for work, I think, “this would be so much easier if I was married.” (I know, this is what we call a first-world problem.)
Call me sexist or a disappointment to all independent women, but my idea of the perfect man is one who makes grocery store runs, reaches high places and empties the dishwasher. All you veteran married/girlfriend-ed ladies out there are probably laugh, laugh, laughing at my naivete but just let me have my dreams, mk? Some girls swoon and sigh over that one special day where they get to dress up in white, eat cake and dance with their new husband. On the other hand, nothing sets my heart aflutter more than imagining that magical moment when my sugar pie honey bunch will take out the trash for me. In exchange, I plan to bake a lot of cookies and sit through a lot of football. BOO-YAH. I would totally rock that wife gig.
So hypothetical future husband, take note. You’re off the hook (mostly) for flowers and dancing and candlelit dinners. Just take care of changing the oil and we’ll call it even. XOXO.