To My Loving Husband

I know we haven't actually met yet, but if we do, and you want to marry me, please keep in mind that these are the things that make me break up with you.

• We watch a Memorial Day concert, and you don't get weepy when they show the old men in the audience singing along with the Marine Corps theme song.
• You have an issue with the fact that I can eat as much pasta as is put in front of me.
• You're a racist.
• You're a Yankees fan.
• You make fun of my family...any of them, even the swinger. I'll cut you.
• You don't read.
• You wear denim shorts.
• You have a cat. Girls can have them, you can't. Not sure why, but that's the way it is.
• You're mean to the waitress/bartender and/or are a bad tipper.
• You're not funny.
• You're jokey.
• You drive a bright yellow or an obnoxious blue car.
• You're addicted to porn...or anything really. Moderation, honey, it's your friend most days.
• You drink mixed drinks other than margaritas and things involving bourbon or Jack Daniels...Bacardi drinkers, I think you know what I'm saying.
• You're not handy around the house.
• You're a picky eater. You can be choosy, but don't be picky. And, you don't have to eat mushrooms or onions.
• You're shorter than me. Sorry, but I'm short so this shouldn't be difficult.
• You're dumb.
• You make regular use of a picture phone.
• You say, "As you might guess of anyone who does conceptual art for video games, I'm all about the weed."
• And then you say, "I have a two-year-old half-Jamaican, half-Asian son."