Hiiiii, future wife.
I’m really looking forward to being in our kitchen together.
Peering over your shoulder, checking out your latest creation.
“You know, that looks good,” I’ll say.
“Thaaaank you. My mother always said that the way to a man’s heart is through his–”
“Uhm, no. My mother did not say that. Have you met my mother?”
“Yes… Lovely woman.”
“Does it hurt when you cringe and grit your teeth like that?”
“What? There’s no cringing. No gritting.”
“I think my mother should come visit us next month.”
“I just chipped a tooth.”
I’m looking forward to us teaching each other about foods and recipes.
“I didn’t even know you could make crackers,” I’ll say.
“Where do you think crackers come from?” you’ll ask, laughing.
“And where do the stores get them–”
“– Cracker fairy?”
“Noooo. Cracker companies. But they have special machines and licenses. Possibly magic.”
You’ll find me adorable. Hopefully.
We’ll listen to music while we cook. You’ll dance. I’ll nod my head. You’ll grab my hands and make me dance. A little. I’ll tell you I love the song. You’ll tell me you were in the fourth grade when it came out. I’ll lick my finger and stick it in your mixing bowl. (I’ll automatically add in, “That’s not a euphemism” to future tellings of the story.)
We’ll have fun.
You’ll add things to my frying pan when I turn my head. I’ll explain how you’re washing dishes incorrectly. You’ll put suds on my nose. I’ll say, “You know, I am starting to think that there is some correlation between spicing foods and taste.” You’ll shake your head. I’ll slap your butt. I’ll reach for things on high shelves for you.
And we’ll make out.
Because everything is better when you make out.