Dear Adam, I’m glad you’re not dead

Dear Adam,

I just got word from your wife that your minor outpatient sugery is over and you’re fine.  Except for pooping on the table, you came through with flying colors and will be resting comfortably at your mommy’s house tonight.

I’m glad you’re not dead.

No, really.

I know I made you send me documentation verifying that I get 5% of the company’s life insurance policy just in case.  And it’s true that I took preemptive pictures of the contents of the box that you put me in charge of removing for the purpose of posting them on my blog, just in case. And I might have made plans to go to the beach in the event that I had to take a few weeks of work for mourning purposes just in case.

But really – yay for you not dying on the table!

Because even though I yell at you for being all up my ass, I’ve kind of grown accustomed to your hovering.  And even though I like to spend hours telling you all about your neurosis and your psychosis and all the ways in which you need to better yourself as a human being, I can’t imagine anyone else would be near as much fun to psychoanalyze.

And while I scream at you for checking my email and bitch about all that damn work you make me do, I’m really kind of the luckiest girl in the world when it comes to jobs and bosses.

So, truly, thanks for not dying and making me find a new job.

With all my bitching and poking and prodding and abuse, you might have missed that you’re kind of a big deal to me.  You’re not perfect and I will never stop reminding you of that, but you’re absolutely the best friend a girl could ask for.

Who else would drive me to the beach in the middle of the night to remind me that living in Florida is awesome?

Who else would allow my kids to put on sparring gear and beat the shit out them while they are babysitting for me so I could spend a weekend alone with my husband?

Who else would send me home from work early because I’m having a bad day and insist that I spend the afternoon doing something for myself?

Who else would call me at night to make sure I’ve taken my crazy meds and call to warn my husband that I’ve got PMS and he better be nice to me or take cover?

Who else would offer to take on the entire world, whether I need it or not, just to make sure that I don’t have to?

So really, I’m glad you’re not dead.

Because as twisted and dysfunctional and fucked up as our relationship appears to be sometimes, the good far outweighs the bad.

And I’d be absolutely lost without you.

I will never in a million years let you put your penis anywhere near my vagina, but…

I love you,

Britt

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