Dear Future Wife,

Hi. How are you? You are looking well today. Hair all shiny-like.

So, you are the last woman standing, eh? Good for you!

However, there is something that I feel I should warn you about...

You are going to have to dress me.

Not literally. But, you proooobably should be in charge of picking out my clothes.

Since I find good fashion sense so sexy in a woman (I know, I know...) I am going to assume that you have it.

But, I also hope that I had the forethought to end up with someone patient.

VERY patient.

The kind of person that would say, "That Mother Theresa was a bit of a hot head, right?"

Future Wife -- Can I call you Future Wife? -- I only own one pair of shoes that can't be used to play a sport. And they are old and shitty.

It's a bad scene, lady.

Left to my own devices, I am going to rock jeans, a t-shirt and a baseball cap. Every chance I get.

Remember when we first met and you asked why I was still single?

Yeah.

Despite all of this, I'll be more than willing to offer up my input on your fashion choices AND expect you to at least listen.

Remember what I said about patience?

You could choose to see me as a blank canvas?

Maybe?

Even when you are sweet enough to pick out clothes for me, I am fairly like to fight you on it. At least initially. And my complaints may be oddly specific and obscure.

"I'm going to look like Guy Smiley in that shit!"

Sure, pummeling me is an option at that point. However, the best way to handle it is with a...

"Sweetie... You are a boy. You don't know anything about fashion. Now shut up and try it on."

This will make sense to me. "Hmm. True enough. OK!"

It should be noted that the "Sweetie... shut up" move should be a frequently used arrow from your quiver of dealing with Peter.

When I do try on your outfit I'll probably love it. "I'm... GORGEOUS!" I'll even admit that I was wrong to fight you on it.

Sometimes.

An ex -- who had grown tired of my many old (originally) white t-shirts -- ended up buying me a whole mess of clothes one Christmas. She even "taught" me how to wear them.

"You can wear this with this. Or this. OR even this with this AND this!"

There was talk of "layers." My eyes glazed over. It's not like I don't recognize the difference between what looks good and what doesn't... I just don't give much of a shit. She was very excited though.

"You look SOOOO good."

And then she hugged me for ten minutes.

Me: "Uhm... What's the deal here?"

Her: "I... just want to remember this moment."

She's long gone now, but the nice clothes still remain.

And when my jeans and old t-shirts are dirty, I sometimes even consider wearing them

I thought it was only fair to warn you about this, Future Wife. Though I do make up for it in other ways.

I think.

Godspeed.

Love,
Peter

- ps How's about you skip the blog posts about how much sports I watch? We have to let some stuff be a surprise, right?