dear husband-to-be,
i'm afraid this will be a very serious letter. you see, i need you to understand something.
my looks belie who i really am.
does that make sense?
i look like i would love to spend an evening at the opera. i would not.
i look like i might really like a swanky jazz bar. mmm...not really my thing. if you could find an off-the-beaten-path beatnik pub with some jazz on the side...that i could do.
i prefer a ball game to almost anything else.
i will always order a cheesburger. and i'm a cheap drunk.
i laugh. a lot. out loud. at the most inappropriate of times.
and when we go to the beach, you'll have to drag me out of the water at the end of the day. i will not be the one working on my tan.
i look like i could be a politican's wife. and i could be. i could play that part really well.
but that is not the part i want to play.
i am not perfect. i am a screw-up in the most glorious of ways.
you see, i want to have a ping-pong table in the dining room.
and i'll still climb a tree. or hurtle down a hill on a sled.
i'm not the girl you think i am, when you first glance at me.
it's strangely frustrating.
but i refuse to change who i am to conform to what i look like.
and if on that first glance, i come off as cold, it's simply because i'm shy and quiet and totally, madly in love with you. already.
so please don't be intimidated by some idea of me. i'm flighty and i lose everything. and i'm funny. really, i am. at least, i think i am, and that's something, right?
and i still have this old-fashioned belief that the guy should make the first move.
so please, do. make the first move.
you might just be surprised by what you find.
love, love, love,
the woman who is not the woman you first assumed i was (but it's okay, even my friends still make silly assumptions, and they've known me for a while)