Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, if someone tells me I look smashing, do they mean I look like I could smash things? People? Souls? Did they actually call me potentially kick-ass?

Dear future hubster, I really hope you are a creative one, and have a solid plan for meeting me. Because here's a hint: that good (?) old dating thing ain't gonna work with me. I'm not even sure I understand what "dating" means, but I do know the idea stresses me out. When I (finally) meet you, dear future hubster, I want to feel comfortable. I want it to be simple and relaxing. Ok, relaxing could mean that I'm screaming my lungs out because you took me to an amusement park and we are on a rollercoaster (excellent idea, by the way), or that I swear like a trucker (I'm no lady, you'd better get used to it), because my everything hurts because we are climbing a wall. Or because I can't figure out how to put together that sneaky piece of Ikea furniture, and NO! I don't need you to fix it for me. Just let me have my moment.   But please, please don't put me in a situation where I have to dress up and go to some lovely restaurant and...

Dear future hubster, I believe that every grown-up woman, regardless of social or marital status, skin or hair colour, sexual or mental disorientation, should be able to open the basic bottles without any help or trouble. And by basic I mean water, beer, wine, bubbly. Help may be asked in serious cases of jars. 

Dear future hubster, silly it may sound considering all the places I can visit from my home base in the lands of eternal summer, sometimes, and recently more and more, I just unexpectedly miss Paris. Actually, and quite nostalgically, France as a whole. Could we please meet there, take trains and walks and boats, travel the countryside, be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright?

Dear future hubster, can we please stop once and for all with all the BS about not getting hurt? It's an impossible hope and an ignorant goal. If you get involved, you get hurt. That simple.  If you want it in a fairy tale framework, there you go: If we are really, really lucky, and this is for real and for happily ever after, one of us will still get hurt when suddenly the other one is gone. Nobody lives forever, I heard. So if you didn't want to hurt me, or get hurt in the process, you shouldn't ever have come anywhere close me. Because the moment we decided we care, we accepted that sometimes it is going to be deeply painful. That's how you know you're still alive. Good old Bono said it himself.