Dear future hubster,
I want to dance! I am not really good at it, and I'm shy and bashful most of the time, and get nervous about how I look and whether I move in a ridiculous way (talking about insecurities, huh), but now I really want to go! Some tacky music from our youth would do; you know, something that would make Matti laugh in disbelief. It's ok if we look ridiculous and people think we are drunk, let's just go and dance and laugh.

Dear future hubster,
this road trip reminded me: we need to talk about honeymoon.

Dear future hubster,
a non-representative and non-exhaustive track list for driving home from home (both ways) in May 2013 would look like this:

the obvious:

the one-you-wouldn't-think-will-get-this-much-airtime:

the brand new from a not-so-brand-new:

the "we believe it's summer so it will be summer soon":

The lumberjack:

the "hey! Who are you? I like you!":  (I swear the girl looks like she lived in our dorm)

the "I keep thinking it's her but I'm not convinced but then it is indeed her":

And the bonus, because I'm very proud that the content of my trunk is approved by them:

Dear future hubster,
I don't only miss you when I have troubles I don't want to face alone. It's a lot more melancholic not having you around when I have joy to share. Little things, like the first spring evening on the balcony; when they fly the blue-white flag for the Octave; a windy Sunday afternoon up at the castle's ruins... it would all be a bit sweeter if you could only be there with me.