Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #53

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:

Remember when I said I was sort of mad at you because you already knew so much more about us than I do back here in 2009?

Well, I do know one thing for sure, and I figure I’d better let you know so as not to shock you – as I type this, I’m realizing I’m probably going to shock you about a lot of things. That’s OK, right?

Anyway, I have a secret. Don’t worry. It’s nothing bad, illegal or otherwise inappropriate – remember who you’re reading about here, Sweetpea (my rap sheet is shiny and clean; I don’t even have a record!). Speaking of criminal activity, you’d better not have any history of walking on the wrong side of Lady Law, if you catch my meaning. Frankly, as you can imagine, I’m never, ever, under any circumstances going to tolerate that.

But I digress…back to this big, mysterious secret of mine. OK. Here. It. Comes.

I have a little obsession. When you really think about it, it’s quite a small one, actually. No, I’m not a woman of the night. No, I’m not the angel of the morning. I’m an avid collector of magazines.

There. I said it. Have you fallen faint on the floor yet?

Whew. Good. Looks like we’ve dodged a bullet so far.

I call this an obsession because for all intents and purposes, that’s what it’s been to me for my entire life. How do I know this? Because I’ve started rationalizing my habit (read: obsession).

“I’m a writer. It’s my trade. I can write it off on my taxes,” I say.

Now, mind you, I’m saying this as I’m standing in the middle of the rows and rows of magazines in Barnes & Noble (that place is like a shot of heroin to me…seriously, Sweetpea, it’s that bad, and I’m only looking at this from a 2009 perspective, mind you. ), as I scan the rows and indiscriminately throw magazines into my wheelchair basket. From the looks of my purchases, I’m quite the varied writer, apparently, writing on everything from the Jon & Kate scandal (thank you, Life&Style) to the intricate world of movies (thank you, New Moon special edition magazine, complete with a giant poster of Edward Cullen).

You see, that’s where those lovely shelves above come in. As it stands right now, all my magazines are piled in about 8 bins in my bedroom closet. So, to make a long story short, I’m formally (in writing, see!) requesting that we have at least 6 of these in our house.

The only clause: I’ll have to approve any and all magazines you’d like to put on said shelves. And yes, I’m subtly talking about the ones you buy for the articles…

Is that too much? Until we meet…

[Photos via This Is Glamorous]