The Mouse Is Dead

Dear Future Husband,

Oh. My. God! There was a mouse in the house! But I didn’t panic. I didn’t pack up my things and abandon the place. I did the very grown up, brave thing to do, and patched the hole in the wall, where I think the mouse came in, and I bought mouse traps….20 of them to be exact. Okay, maybe I went a bit overboard, but I was determined to catch a mouse!

The guy at Ace Hardware showed me exactly how to set up and bait the traps, which I did with great precision. The peanut butter applied to each trap was enough to tempt any mouse, but especially one who hadn’t eaten in days. Um, yeah. it came to the wrong place looking for food. So at this point it was either going to be caught in the trap or it was going to starve to death. But I needed it to die in the corner, in a trap, and not wake up to a dead mouse in the middle of my floor! Do you know how horrified I would’ve been?!



Hooray for a multitude of well baited mouse traps! This morning the mouse was dead. And not only was it dead, but the force of the trap caused the trap to flip over and was on top of the mouse. That was God’s grace by the way, because He knew I couldn’t stomach seeing the nasty thing lying there dead on my floor.

I know you’re probably thinking, “Yes! I knew my brave girl could do it,” but really, this is where I freak out. Yeah, I know I talked about being brave…that was yesterday. Today is a new day and all bravery is gone. Anxiety kicked in and all I could think about was how was I going to get rid of this dead mouse? After showering and getting dressed I left the house, because I needed time to think this through. You know, kinda like turning down the radio in the car so you can find the address you’re looking for. Should I ask a stranger walking down the street to come in and sweep it up for me? But then I thought I better not do that because he might come back later and kill me. Next thought was, is there a handyman service I can call, who specifically pick up dead mice for single women? Hey, that’s not a bad idea, you just have to charge enough so it’s worth the gas you’ll use getting to the next customer. Anyway, I digress. What was I going to do? Think Robin, think. Call the ex and ask him to get off the train, come sweep up the mouse, and then get back on the train to get to work? No, that wasn’t going to work. What to do? I eventually reached out to a friend and asked him if he’d come help me. And, like good friends do, he got out of bed and drove 20 minutes away to come sweep up the mouse. Thank God for friends!

Now the mouse is dead and gone and I can get back to mourning the lost of my great aunt. I pray to God, if there is a next time, you’ll be here to handle it because I’m not built for this, and I don’t know how many more times I can call a friend.

I Didn’t Fit In


Dear Future Husband,

What a busy weekend it’s been. It’s now late Sunday night and I’ve just come in from an all-white day party in the city, thrown by one of the local chapters of my sorority. There were about 500 people in attendance, 400 of us were women. The music was great as were the hors D’oeuvres. I danced by myself, while eating a slice of pizza.

I hoped to meet you there. I hoped that you’d look past the other 399 beautiful women and see me from across the patio. Then you’d make your way over to me and say, “you don’t look like you’re having much fun.” And I’d respond with some witty retort, which you’d think was funny. We’d spend the next fifteen minutes talking, before being pulled away by a buddy of yours, but not before asking for my number. I know this all sounds dreamy, and honestly, though I hoped for it, I knew before I ever made it to the event that it wouldn’t happen. Not because I don’t think it could’ve, because I believe all things are possible. I just knew that it wouldn’t, and had resigned myself to enjoying the event without you.

Well, after two hours of standing and watching the crowds take pics, dance, buy drinks and stand around in huddles talking and laughing, the Holy Spirit said, “You don’t fit in here,” and it was at that point I decided I should leave. Though I love being on the Chicago River on a beautiful Summer evening, He was of course right. I don’t, for many different reasons, fit in with that crowd, so I quietly left the party and made my way home.

Welp, future husb, it’s late and I’m sleepy. so I’ll write you later. Good night.


I Turned 50 Yesterday

Friends celebrating birthday

Dear Future Husband,

My 50th birthday was on Sunday. Dude, where in the world were you? Trying to get a flight here? Occupied with someone else? Knocked out after Sunday service? I mean, really, where were you?

Instead of spending my birthday on somebody’s island, eating good food and having sex on the beach – yes, both the drink and hot sandy forbidden sex – I decided to invite a bunch of friends to come celebrate with me. We had a great time playing the escape game, and having dinner and drinks afterward. You would’ve enjoyed the game, even though you may have called the idea corny at first. You missed out this time, but hopefully you’ll be around next year.

Dear Future Husband

Dear Future Husband,

This morning I had a very brief pity party about my lack of a life partner and decided I had a choice to make. Either stop living so I don’t have to feel the loneliness of being by myself, or continue to do what I do. Thankfully, my better judgement kicked in, and I’m choosing to live my life as I normally would, which means hopping on planes just to see art exhibits at museums in other cities, traveling the world, dining out, attending plays and musicals…you get the picture. I mean c’mon, there’s no way I was really going to stop living my life. It was just a brief pity party remember? But I did decide that while living life to the fullest I’d also write my future husband letters to let him know who I am and what he can expect of me when he gets here. So thanks for joining me on this journey as I laugh, cry and pray my way through this waiting period.


Your Future Wife

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton