Happy Leap Day, y’all.
In honor of my Irish roots, though they be few and tiny (I’m a mutt), I want to honor tradition. Irish tradition states that a woman can propose on Leap Day to the man of her choice – almost like a Sadie Hawkins holiday. But I am a woman of many loves. I absolutely cannot pledge my love to only one man just yet. I’m in the prime of my life, and there are way too many Hottie McHotpants out there for a gal like me to settle down just yet.
The following are in no particular order.
LOOK AT THAT FACE. Yes, I know he’s married. Yes, I realize that proposing to him is asking him to commit to a polygamous lifestyle. And, no, I don’t give a crap.
I’d like to introduce you to perfection. I spend an unhealthy amount of time imagining what life with Ryan would be like. Obviously, it would be lovely. He’s a charmer and a flirt, and I’m shamelessly obsessed with him. We both seem to be somewhat crafty. Meaning that he probably builds furniture matching the pictures I find on Pinterest. He breaks up street fights in NYC, and I laugh at street fights in Texas. He once dated Sandra Bullock, and I have seen her movies and live in the same state as her. He’s from Canada, and I have absolutely nothing in common with that except I like their bacon. C’mon? Aren’t you jealous?!
He’s adorable. And look at that hair. Don’t you think that hair would look great as my husband? I think so too.
You’ll always be my Seth Cohen, baby-boo. Always.
I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to. Truthfully, I don’t see a life of bliss as Mrs. Berry-Levine. I have a feeling it will be a marriage of Ike and Tina proportions, and I’m actually OK with that. As long as he doesn’t pull a Chris Brown, I think we’ll be able to divorce with a nice, normal media explosion about my infidelity with Ryan Gosling and his addiction of some kind. That’s what dreams are made of, kids.