i want to hear, future wife
Did you like your word doodle the other day?
Last night I was watching an episode of Nigella Bites… because my remote batteries crapped out while I was trying to find a Bare Knuckle Boxing and Spitting For Distance tournament?
Anyway, while I was snuggling up inside of her voice, I wondered what you might sound like.
I guess your accent will depend on which mail order bride company has the best deal that month.
But, really, what will your voice sound like?
I expect you’ll have one of those voices that gets super enthusiastic and loud about things. Like I’ll be able to tell what your facial expression is just from hearing you, you know? I’ll be able to hear your eyes getting wider with excitement.
I love that.
And when your voice gets soft and little, I’ll know you need me.
I want to hear how you say my name… in various instances. I want to be able to tell that it is your favourite thing to say. And that it spills out over your lovely lips so damn naturally because you’ve been annoying your friends by saying it to them all the time.
I want to know for sure, what I suspect, that when you say certain, amazing things to me, it’ll make me crush so hard that I’ll have to regain my composure before asking you to say them again.
I want you to say those things in a whisper. At first.
I want to hear you sing. And maybe you suck at it. Though I’d never, ever admit it. I just want the urge to sing to be so strong that you don’t really care what you sound like. In the shower. In the car. In Target.
And I want to hear you laugh. I know it will be the kind of laugh that explodes from you, and ensures that on the off chance that any eyes in the room weren’t already on you, they are now.
A couple of people have mentioned to me that I should have something of a Future Wife Competition on this blog. Like a reality show type deal. I even had some ideas about a few different “contests” that could probably be very amusing.
But I feel like you’re the type of woman who would laugh and say, in an absolutely charming way, with a smile that sucks me so completely in…
“I don’t compete, Peter. I get.”
I really want to hear that.