Dear Husband

Below please find a partial list of things I should’ve told you thirteen years ago:

Birthdays in my family are a national holiday. As a boy who tried to hide upon receiving the annual “Happy Birthday To You” reverie, we may have some friction around this issue. For a decade or so. Especially over the black Banana Republic T-shirt you presented as my 30th Birthday present.

Try not to freak out when you see gefilte fish for the first time. Big deal. You were practically raised on Jello salads, right? Mini marshmallows, congealed fish broth…same same.

When we agree to keep a secret, “we” often includes my mom, and perhaps one or two of my other dear friends. It sounds bad, but you won’t really mind. Not Much.

Oh, and stay away from the beet horseradish. It’s not in your genes.

My feet are icicles and you’re legally bound to let me warm them on you nightly.

You’re going to acquire many many Jewish relatives to keep track of. And some of them really do look alike. Especially the older fellas. As a tall red-head everyone will know exactly who you are. When you discretely turn to me for help, I will be huffing my brisket and therefore rendered useless.

We’re moving to Chicago and then back to hometown Wisconsin. I realize that you’ve enjoyed Colorado. Sorry to break this to you. Also, we will become engaged, marry and have two children before you’re ready to say "I love you, too."

Sorry about that not eating all day on your first Yom Kippur. I wanted you to see what you were getting into. Not that I’ve ever successfully fasted. Ever.

I will get better at hiding my shock when I walk into the bastion of Republicanness that is your childhood home. True, I first laughed at what I assumed were gag-gifts, but that initial glibness turned to shocked solemnity upon viewing the “Election 1980: Get Rid of The Empty Shell” framed poster hung in the basement.

Protect your plate. I will steal food from you, even after eating all of mine. When we have children, I will ease your burden by stealing theirs.

Thanks, Hon. Oh, and never never never suggest my foul mood, appearing every four weeks like clockwork, relates in any way to my menses. You will make this mistake only once, and only once will I suggest you fuck off. We both learn this lesson, and become more creative with our verbiage in the future. xoxoxo