Dear Future Wife,
Hey. Been a while.
I should warn you that I MAY have watched a tiny bit of You’ve Got Mail the other night. And you know what that does to my e-mail writing.
Well, you don’t know that yet. But you will.
If you ever show up.
That movie makes me want to sit and type impossibly long emails, where I try to be as clever and charming as possible. Where I spend a half hour reading it over before hitting “Send.”
And where I spend another hour re-reading it in my “Sent Mail” folder.
Pouring over every word. Debating what I should have changed. Beating myself up for one phrase that will probably go unnoticed anyway.
Fuck. I love that.
The problem is…
Who wants to read that shit?
And worse, I get all “FUCK yooooooou” if I don’t get a reply that involved as much time and effort.
I’m a treat, right?
It’s all Meg Ryan’s fault, really. As most things are. (At least she’s not a brunette with long hair — that would make it worse for me.)
I was telling another blogger the other night, that texting and IM’ing has ruined e-mail writing. (Yes, I know e-mail ruined letter writing, but I’m not Amish, so what do I care?)
I love words. I love the challenge of using the perfect words, in the right order, to express EXACTLY what I want to say.
And how I feel.
I love reading words sent to me and the power that they can have.
Even the silliest, most mundane, things can be fun in an e-mail exchange.
I want to tell someone that I am trying to find the ideal winter coat.
I want for her to ask what I am looking for.
I want to say, “I want a coat that when I wear it, it reminds you of feeling safe and warm, and brings back memories from your past that are so pleasant, yet too elusive to put your finger on, and you think I look like I could have stepped out of a cigarette ad, and you love it even though you hate smoking, and when I come in from scraping and clearing the snow and ice from your car, you want more than anything in the world to be a couple hours late for work because we are playing lumberjack and high society woman whose car broke down.”
And then she’ll say, “J. Crew catalogue. Page 32.”
Also, Future Wife, I think we should get hitched before 2011. Because if that movie is correct, the world is going to end in 2012. And I have a list of things I want to do with you that will take at least a year. (Or two weeks and a case of Gatorade.)
By the way, the first time I saw the ad for that movie, I was in bed with my glasses off. I read the screen and thought “It was predicted by the Mayans” actually said, “It was predicted by the Wayans.”
And I was like “Really? The dudes who brought us White Chicks?”
In the meantime, I will take comfort in knowing that I can now watch my girlfriend Sofie Allsopp online. (For the record, Sofie doesn’t know she’s my girlfriend, but I gotta think she’ll be pretty thrilled when she finds out.)
Keep your stick on the ice.
-ps The whole me watching You’ve Got Mail thing, that stays between us, right?