The letter request:
Can you write a letter to all the girls out there who missed out on meeting my husband before I did and then I’ll give it to him as a love letter?
Dear Girls Far and Wide,
This letter is one of commiseration and is in no way intended to be a declaration of triumph. I write because I genuinely feel for you. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night because my heart aches for the girls of Australia. The girls of Canada. The girls of France. Indonesia. All of South East Asia. The girls of every single country that has at some point hosted Jonathan. Girls who could have sat next to him on a bus, got chatting, exchanged numbers, one thing leading to another… Girls who could have been his best mate’s pretty cousin for whom he had the hots. Girls who could have worked in the same office as him and pashed him in the photocopy room at the Christmas party.
Before you get all excited ladies, stay cool, none of this will happen. I got there first; he’s married to me.
It could have been you. You could have been the only girl at weddings whose husband will dance regardless of whether she does; in fact, regardless of whether anyone else does. You could have been married to a man whose dancing reaches outside of special occasions and into the everyday, who’ll use singing and dancing to dissipate your bad moods and put a smile back on your dial.
You could have been in love with a man who will always offer to drive, will endeavour to remember which towel is his and who puts on deodorant before coming to bed. If you’d met Jon before I did, you might have someone to make you packing lists when you’re going camping, someone who appreciates the finer things in life like ergonomic cutlery, op shopping and snuggling on the couch to watch TV series about serial killers.
If it makes you feel better, Jon is not perfect. He refuses to eat leftovers that are more than three days old and when he washes the dishes he doesn’t always let the plug out, so a downside to loving this man is that, occasionally, you would’ve had to have stuck your hand into cold, dirty dishwater. Sometimes he even smokes.
And, I’ll be frank with you because maybe it’ll ease your pain a little, this almost-too-good-to-be-true man may have married you and then moved 4000km away forcing you to follow. But despite some protestations you’d be happy enough to go. You’d pack up the house and the dog and follow this man to the other side of the earth if you’d been so lucky as to catch him before I did.
Girls far and wide, I’m sorry to say I lied. When I said I wasn’t gloating it wasn’t true. When I said I lay awake thinking of you that wasn’t true either. When I can’t sleep it’s cos I’m thinking about ME. And how lucky I am to have found such an attractive hairy bunyip of a man to call my own.
Don’t hate me.