Random love letters to my wife
I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. You're such a caring wife and a loving mother and I'm forever grateful that I'm with such an amazing person.
I also wanted to tell you that you don't really need to exercise or dress up nicely for me anymore, darling.
The thing is, I've seen you naked for, like, 15 years now, so there's really nothing left to my imagination anyway, honey pie. I mean, it's not that I don't find you attractive. I think you're more beautiful than ever. It's just that, well, more often than not, there are other women running naked in my head while I'm on top of you. Or you're on top of me. Which doesn't happen enough and probably requires another letter, angel. So anyway, don't feel like you have to do these kinds of things for me anymore. I mean, if you want to do it for yourself, that's fine and I think that's wonderful and another example of what a quality, caring, conscientious person you are. But I have to tell you, I was through with the "thinking-about-you-in-spandex-thing" in, like, '96.
Unless, of course, you and the blonde neighbor -- the one with the tight butt -- want to do an exercise video here at the house. Then I'm totally okay with that.
I love you always,
Every morning, as time goes by,
I leave the house and said goodbye,
You're my love, you're my life,
Darling, without you, I'd die.
When I leave you, my dear,
I often think of my death,
How I'll miss your smile and your eyes,
But not your rancid morning breath.
You can't imagine the odor,
Flying forth from your face,
It's horrific, it's painful,
I often wish I had mace.
Like cheese gone bad,
On a hot summer's day,
When you open your mouth,
All I think is "Oy Vey."
Yet I love you so much,
Your face I still kiss,
I just close my eyes tightly,
And pray your lips that I miss.
Darling, sweet darling,
I have a question I shall ask.
Is it possible sweet darling,
You could sleep in a mask?
It would be perfect, of course,
A mask to protect my life,
From the heinous foul odors
Which come from you, my dear wife.
While there are times when the mundane existence of everyday life finds me unable to devote all of my attention to your being, I want to tell you how important you are to my life. And how you define my life, my soul, my existence.
Also, I wanted to tell you darling, the next time we're driving, I'd love you even more if you could shut your trap and stop singing along with the songs on the radio. For quite possibly, sweetums, you might have the freaking worst voice I have ever heard in my life. You suck, precious.
I thought my mother's voice was bad, but I would buy a CD of her greatest hits before I'd subject myself to your tone-deaf ramblings.
Of course, you know I'd buy that CD for you, angel, because I love you so much.
Frankly, I imagine the shrill of your voice is similar to how someone sounds when they break their leg. On a sharp rock. After falling off a 40-foot cliff.
Gosh, I hope that never happens to you, sugar.
I must confess honey, when we're driving and I turn up the radio, it's not because I want to hear my favorite song. I'm trying to drown out your voice before you burst the eardrums of three innocent dogs.
You are so beautiful,
I was thinking of you today and I wanted to remind you how you're always with me, even when we're apart.
The thought of you overwhelms my body, and the feelings I have for you cannot be explained by words. For no words could do justice to my love for you.
Darling, while I wanted to write this to remind you of our love, I also wanted to remind you that you haven't cooked in a little over two goddamn weeks. Fifteen days, to be exact. And while I enjoy an occasional slice of Pizza Hut Pizza, it's a bit disturbing when I walk in to pick it up and the 16-year-old kid behind the counter says, "See you tomorrow, Mr. Strauss."
By the way, thanks for calling in the order. I love you for that.
I'm just wondering, just a teensy little bit, buttercup, were you always such a lazy ass and I just didn't see it, or has it been more of a recent occurrence that you find yourself immobilized and unable to do anything other than lie on the couch and watch Dr. Phil?
And did I mention how cute you look lying there, too?
Darling, I'm not asking you to do much. But any sort of effort which requires you to go in that unused room in the house would be appreciated.
And in case you weren't sure, that room is called the kitchen.
You're so sweet and beautiful. I'm a very lucky man.
I only wish I wasn't such a hungry, very lucky man.
You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine,
you make me happy,
when skies are gray.
You never know dear,
how much I love you,
please don't take my sunshine away.
Honey, while I sing those words to you with all my conviction, please don't take them too literally.
Yes it's true you are my sunshine and I love you so much, but quite honestly, when you're in the middle of your period, I really wouldn't mind if someone took you away.
Like, far away.
Like, China far away.
But only for a week or so, sweetcheeks. Because I'd miss you.
Please don't misunderstand, honey. I would never do anything to hurt your feelings. It's just that when you have your period, you're more than just my sweetheart. You're just my scary, crazy, psychotic bitch sweetheart.
Precious, so often I love to nestle up to you and listen to you coo when I whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
The problem is, sometimes I forget when you've turned into the Bloody Devil Dragon from Hell. And so, instead of cooing, you turn to me and say, "Get your goddamned face away from me before I reach down your throat, rip out your larynx and redeposit it in your ass. AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGHHHHH!"
Or, "You no good son of a bitch bastard. I hate your guts. I loathe the day you were born. I could watch you die right now and not even flinch. AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!"
Or, "Get me some ice cream, you worthless sack of worm crap. Now! Faster! FASTER! AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGHH!"
Darling, I love you and I hate to see you suffer like this. Which is why I think it's better if I don't see you, period. During your period. And since I'm the primary breadwinner of the family -- heck, I'm the only breadwinner in the family -- I think it's only fair you leave my house and don't come back until you can act like a decent human being and not like the lead role in the Omen.
I love you, you adorable pad-protected nutjob.
So many things to say to you. Yet I never feel as if I say enough.
Enough to truly express my feelings of joy whenever I see your face. Your eyes are like a small one-way bridge that connects to my soul. I adore and cherish the day you were born.
Speaking of born, angelic angel, I was wondering if you could possibly stop asking me to help you with the kids. I find that to be most annoying and a burden on me.
Taking care of the children is your job. Giving them baths, packing their lunches, helping them with their homework, ironing their clothes, reading them books and putting them to bed is what is expected of you.
And you do it so well, my dear. Which is why I love you. So please, goddamn it sweetheart, quit asking me to give them baths, pack their lunches, help them with their homework, iron their clothes, read them books and put them to bed.
Darling, I only wish I had someone at my office I could walk up to and say, "I don't really feel like doing my job today. Do you mind doing it for me?"
But the truth is, cookie-face, I don't have that person at my office. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't think you had one at your office, either.
I love you.
Also, I think it's better for me to be less involved in case I ever decide to leave you for a younger, childless woman. Not that you wouldn't always be in my thoughts, dear. Even beyond all the times I would be writing alimony checks.
It just seems to me the transition would be easier from marriage to single motherhood if you've been doing everything by yourself all along.
Also darling, I'd appreciate it if you could explain to the kids how busy I am and why they shouldn't bother daddy when he comes home from work because he has a lot of stress in his life and the last thing he needs to hear are some pain in the ass kids. So when I do come home, I'd appreciate it if you could make sure the kids are either in the basement, or outside, or at somebody else's house.
Also, it'd be nice if a piping hot dinner was waiting for me on the table the second I walked in the door. And as per my love letter dated 6/30/97, it better not be from Pizza Hut.
Thanks, gorgeous. You're not just a peach. You're the whole goddamn peach orchard.
Do peaches grow in orchards? Whatever.
At any rate, love today, tomorrow and forever,
To My Loving Wife:
Sugar magnolia, you rock my world.
And I want you to know that while I love you more than you'll ever know, I think I could also love three or four other women.
Not at the same time, though.
I mean, I wish. But I couldn't. And no one knows that better than you, darling of mine.
Sweetheart, you're my everything. Honestly, I can't ever see myself spending long periods of time with anyone other than you. You mean that much to me. However, I could easily see myself spending a night or two with a few loose women in a seedy hotel room in Vegas.
This is not the kind of long-lasting, everlasting love the two of us share, darling. This is more like a take-everything-off-but-the-stillettos-and-do-you-have-change-for-a-fifty kind of love.
What I treasure most about the time we spend together is that often we can simply look at each other and never have to say a word. With these other women, I would never be able to do that. There would always be awkward conversations like, "Okay, bend over the table and lift your right leg. No. Higher."
And for a short period of time, I suppose I would be okay with that. But that sort of love grows tiresome after a while. Plus, you can really burn through your money in no time flat.
You are always my number one. My one and only. I will always come back to you. You're my soul and my inspiration. You're my dream come true.
Well, actually, those two women in the mud wrestling commercial are my dream come true. But after them, you're right up there.