Why My Husband Should Adore Me

This you must see. Really: don't read one more word until you check it out.

The note was found on the same NYC to CT train route that I took for one very sweet, very hot (and I don't mean sexy) summer. It would mark the only time I ever worked in Manhattan, which makes me both happy and sad, but no matter: I know this MetroNorth line well.

It's the route my father took morning and night over the course of a few decades, and it's the one that many of my friends take today. It is also the train I rode as a teenager when I would wander through Greenwich Village with my posse, all of us so incredibly cool -- in our LL Bean boots and ribboned pony tails. Oh lord: Chloe Sevigny, we were not.

I never found a list like that on the train (though I did once find a six pack in a brown paper bag and I was all, woot! woot!), and I doubt my dad ever did. Granted, this was in the olden days before cool computer links could instantly deliver your boyfriend to the thousand dollar pair of shoes you love, but still.

I sort of thought this world, people with "wish lists" like this, didn't really exist... at least I didn't think they rode the fucking train!

If I wrote a Christmas list for my husband, which I haven't (mostly because he's been out of the country for most of the month, including right now thanks to a little snow storm in Europe which has stranded him YET AGAIN), I can assure you it would not look like this note.

For one, I would embed pictures of the things I most covet.

Things like this:

Because my feet hurt. Lots.

And not from my Luhbootins (which I am not even going to try to spell correctly) but from the thump-thump-thump I do all day in clogs made by Scandinavian masochists.

Or this.

Because it's hard to whip up cupcakes or healthy whole-grain muffins (wink, wink) when the baking section of my kitchen looks more pock-marked than most meth addicts.

And this?

Because, um? Does this even require explanation? Oprah sayeth and I believeth: a good bra doth make me look skinnieth-er.

I can't ever seem to find these when I need them.

Or these:

I would like some. Please.

I haven't done the math, and I'd probably mess up the calculations anyway, but I'm pretty sure I didn't come close to the $20K tab my train riding girlfriend did. This, and the Delicious Miller Lite? I think I just might be the cheapest date EVER. Add it to my countless other amazing qualities, and I'm sure I have endeared my husband to me for life. (Can you endear someone to you? Have I just bastardized re-invented language again?)

But just in case he might read this, and is kind of wanting to, well, spoil me -- this is what I really, really want:

She? Priceless.

PS: Truth: I'd really just like him to make it home to enjoy Christmas. That'd be good enough for me. And also: I already bought the coat I needed. It's wrapped and under the tree: "Stay Warm Mom! Heart, the Kids"