Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, I wanna be diggin' the dancing queen.

Dear future hubster, I don't know why I often end up with boys who don't watch football, but I certainly hope you do. Or if you don't, at least let me have my 3-week Euro/World Cup fever every other year. And the Champions' League Final. Please.

Dear future hubster, please note that you need to be willing to come summer festivaling with me. You may not actually need to come to a festival for real, but you need to be ready to do so. I want to share my uncontrollable joy of feeling free, free to put my blanket on the garbage-covered field and turn my face towards the sun, free to breathe in music and noise, free to watch people, free to be alone with the crowd, free  to feel intimate like you only can in big parties. I want to be a part of it, and want you to be a part of it.

Dear future hubster, every time you take responsibility over another piece of my, our life, my heart sinks a little. Not because I think it's soooo cuuuute, not because I feel my female empowerment, gained in hard battles I didn't fight, taken away, no. I just have this heavy feeling, this dark thought, that given task will come back to me one day. That all the good will you're putting into changing that proverbial lightbulb will be in vain at the end. That one day I will have to do it alone again. That my famous independence is a protective measure. That people, including you, dear future hubster, always go away.

Dear future hubster, when you see me having difficult times because my body is angry at me for having missed yet another opportunity to produce an offspring, just hand me a vodka shot.