My love (I think it’d be dumb to call you my crush— aren’t crushes more of a description for people I don’t have? Like Jillian Michaels?).
Now that I’ve outed your super secret anonymity (you didn’t have anyone fooled), I’ll soften the sting with some words of love.
I’ve learned so much about myself through being with you, and I am a better person because of it. You make me more introspective, and half of that is because I often find myself thinking, “How do I handle this caveman behavior without being a total bitch?”
I like the fact that we have our “roles” in the relationship, even though you enjoy crossing the lines of appropriateness and start to talk out your ass about your white privilege. You’ve shown me that using humor and sarcasm can be endearing. Instead of getting annoyed, I just give it right back to you. But sometimes I do get annoyed and just become a total bitch. All’s fair in love and war, ya know.
On the roles front, I adore the fact that you take care of almost everything that I don’t care to think about. Things like oil changes and windshield wiper repairs; computer stuff and web-enabled mobile device troubleshooting. You fix stuff around the house and email the landlord when things aren’t up to par. On wintry days when you work from home, you’ll go outside and heat up/brush the snow off of my car before I have to go to work, no matter what time it is. You literally derive joy from opening bottle(s) of wine for me and serving me a glass when I’ve come home from a long day of work. Whatta man. Whatta man. Whatta man. Whatta mighty good man.
Your family (our family) is wonderful, and I love how your mom recently kicked it with us for four days during the Thanksgiving holiday. I hope the nieces and nephew continue to know me as “Chawwlit, the girl who kisses stinky Unca Seawwwn and was always buying us books as kids.”
I love how you encourage me to embody my heritage, and that you convinced me to go all #naturalhair. I love that you could have an Honorary Black Card, but that you consistently blow it by *trying* to do Denzel impressions and talking about how great it is to be white (the only reason why you do that is because you wish you were black and talking about the greatness of whiteness is your last grasping straw at some semblance of pride and dignity [because you know black people are so much cooler than everyone else, especially delusional whites]).
I DO appreciate your love for hip-hop and rhythm and blues, though, and that you don’t mind if I dance all over the house at all hours of the day. ALL HOURS.
I’m pretty much a pampered princess, and I don’t want you to ever think I take it for granted. You make my life so much better. And sometimes much more complicated, but we’re keeping it positive for the intents and purposes of this letter.
But in the spirit of balance (for every yin there is a yang [even though you hate Asians]), I know I make your life better too. I won’t make a list here because this doesn’t have to be a public tit-for-tat game, but everyone knows that behind (many) great men are phenomenal women. And I’m pretty phenomenal, so you must be pretty darn great.
In-unit laundry, love, and Scrabble are all we need.