Je t'aime.

Where do I see myself in 20 years?

I see myself 40 and fabulous. No really, I’m going to work a shitty 9-5 job for which I will be overqualified and underpaid. I will have a treadmill which I will walk on nightly as I bitch and moan about my menial life (via Bluetooth) to my estranged ex-husband. I will watch re-runs of Sex in The City and I will fill the void of designer duds in my closet with mismarked seperates from Lane Bryant. I’ll read the sex articles in cosmo and bookmark all of the positions I’ll never try, because I’m not nearly flexible enough; also because the only guy who’d get within ten feet of me at this point is my scrawny little assistant. At some point, I will probably throw my stapler at him and pay him off so he won’t report me for sexual harassment when my frustration gets the best of me and I make a pass at him in the copyroom. I will have an amazing apartment, furnished with the finest shelving units and rugs that my cat will insist to yack furballs on; because that’s what they do. Yeah… 40 is going to be great. I’ve had a lot of time to plan this one out.

Always, -H.