Dear Husband,

You are fundamentally a good man.  A great man, actually.  You’re loving, kind, funny and honest.  I consider you to be an intelligent person of good judgment.  That’s why I just don’t fucking get it.

Why are you a Republican?  Why?  How can we agree on so much, be so good for each other and get along so well when I should hate your fucking guts?  I don’t understand how you can agree with those dirty, evil, prejudiced, money grubbing, lying, cheating, swindling, arrogant, misogynic bastards.  You are thirty years old.  Quit parroting your old man. 

The irony of our marriage is astounding.  I hope you realize that.  I know you know that I was a Political Science major who interned for a Democratic Senator.  You know I founded the fucking young Democrats club at my university and that I campaigned for Al Gore.  I just think you either don’t or can’t possibly realize how important these things are to me.  How much I want this country to pull out of the enormous hole Bush and the other criminals in his administration have dug.  I don’t understand how the fuck can I live with a man that still thinks George W. Bush actually won the election, that we were right to invade Iraq and that there is no glass ceiling?  Gah.  It fucking makes my head hurt. 

I know that we’ve long since agreed to disagree and never, ever, ever discuss politics, but I just can’t take it anymore.  The longer I repress my thoughts, the more I want to jump up on the coffee table (I don’t own a soap box) and scream truth at you until you are forced to understand.  I want to shake you so hard that you either get it or your head pops off your body and rolls into the dining room.  I am simply ready to explode.  I fear that I will bite my tounge in half between now and November trying to keep my trap shut.

Granted, you’ve made progress in the last few years.  You’ve got to know my best friend and her partner and you’ve accepted and supported gay marriage.  Owing to how much you love the great outdoors, you’ve had no problem trying to be a bit greener.  I cherish these small victories and I intend to build upon them.  If it is the very last thing that I do, I will someday get you to see the light and join the right side.  The side that sees the good in people.  The side that wants peace.  The side that thinks society can and should do better.  This, in addition to “I do” is my vow.  I realize it may take years.  God willing, we’ll have them.

In the interim, let’s try not to get divorced in election years.  Coexist, indeed. 

Sigh,

Your loving wife (Project Openletter)

Reader Submission #10

Before I launch into reader submission #10, I just want to say that I wholeheartedly agree with its author. Having sat through several hellacious gift openings myself, reading this letter gave me warm fuzzies in the depth of my heart. Without further ado:

 

Dear bride to be,

I am delighted to spend your special day with you. I am excited and looking forward to it–I say that with complete honesty. But what on God’s green earth possessed you to have a post-wedding gift opening?! Now, I know there are probably latter day brides out there who disagree with me on this one. And they can rationalize it alllll they want. “Oh but OUR gift opening was just lovely and everyone was THRILLED to be there!” “Oh we had mimosas and laughed–it was just casual and fun!”

No. Everyone is lying. Every.single.person. Gift openings are NOT fun. They are torture. Watching other people, even the dearest, closest friend/relative, open gifts for hours on end is NOT FUN. Add to the fact that you are inviting over 300 people, and the endlessness is nearly maddening. I know it may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t give a shit what your great Aunt Betty got you, and I have less than no desire to see you unwrap five different ice buckets.

Also, do you not recall the fact that your husband and 99% of our friends (and hence your guests) LOVE to drink? You are aware that EVERYONE will be hungover, right? I am sure you thought that starting this “casual” shindig at noon was the kind thing to do. But it’s not. Instead, don’t give into the pressure. Just don’t have one at all. Why? NO ONE WANTS TO GO AND NOW WE ARE ALL OBLIGATED TO.

But I know, I know… spending just a litttttle extra time with friends and relatives is all you want. And I hate to break it to you, but WE DO NOT FEEL THE SAME WAY. Ever hear the saying “You get ONE DAY?” It’s true. You do not get my Sunday. You get my Saturday (and actually, you will be getting my Friday.) You also got two other Saturdays at showers and two Fridays for engagement parties and housewarming parties. So NO. You do not get my Sunday. I don’t care how close we are or how much I might love you. You are being ridiculous.

In the end, this should maybe also be addressed to the twatwaffle who invented post-wedding gift-opening brunches/luncheons as well. FUCK YOU. You have single-handedly made millions of us suffer the inane banter of old ladies we don’t know while we nurse hangover and dream of sleep.

Signed,

Your guest who still might show up since now that she has received a formal invitation, she feels guilty.

Dear Husband,

I love you dearly.  You know this.  However, I do not love watching the Brewers play baseball every.single.time.they.are.on.TV.  It’s summer, for crying out loud.  Could we take a walk or something, please?  I know we didn’t have plans tonight, but had I realized we were going to end up watching the Brew Crew lose, I would’ve made some. 

Also, I do not want a snack.  We just had dinner 2 hours ago and I’m trying to diet here.  You’re being counterproductive and it’s forcing me to hide out in the office.  Staring at the computer is better than sitting around bored watching you shove chips in your pie hole.  I like chips!  Give me a break, please.  We’ve had this conversation.  You have the metabolism of a 12 year old boy and mine is more like that of a bear preparing for hibernation. 

You should be happy you have me.  A lesser wife would nag your ass into going out and doing something.  I’ll just sit here and bitch about you on the internet.

I really do love you hunny, but you are so much more entertaining when it isn’t baseball season.  Maybe tomorrow night I’ll make you take me to go see Sex and the City.  That’ll be super fun for you!

With love,

Your painfully bored wife (Project Openletter)