Dear Future Partner,
Yes, I am taking this seriously. No, I’m not planning on marrying you or reproducing with you. But this is serious. Because you’re my partner, and I wouldn’t treat you as anything less than important. I expect the same treatment in return. Here are a few Lizy guidelines:
If you are living with your mother, please move out. It isn’t hard, and I’ll even help you do it.
I cannot be responsible for the injuries that may be incurred by you from my flailing limbs when I am tickled. Consider yourself warned.
When I am mad, buy me a latte.
When I am really mad, leave me alone.
If you aren’t sure if I’m mad or really mad, buy me a latte and leave me alone.
Let me pay for half of all dates. Let me drive half of the time. Let me pull in my own seat at the dinner table.
Don’t expect me to shave my legs when we go out.
I likely won’t wear makeup, either.
I drool in my sleep. Sorry.
I’m not a dancer anymore, so please don’t tell your friends you’re dating Lizy the Dancer. If that’s what you need to say to impress your friends by me, either dump your friends or dump me.
If you don’t like your own family, please do not expect me to get along with them either. I’m dating you, not your mother.
I am perfectly satisfied with Kraft mac n’ cheese and a stupid movie for a date night. In fact, I’m rather uncomfortable in fancy restaurants.
Should we decide to live together, and you want to be allowed to walk in on me in the bathroom or fart around me or know when I’m on my period or share laundry responsibilities with me and therefore see my dirty underwear, then I am allowed to ask questions about the sexy girls with whom you are spending all your time instead of me.
I do not like flowers. Tell your family.
Do you have a little sister or a young niece? I want to get to know her.
Tell me about your past relationships. I have a juicy past; we can swap horror stories.
I have been dumped once, and only once. It was my first relationship. Keep that in mind if you ever contemplate doing something I might not like.
My mom is probably going to send you a friend request on Facebook sometime soon.
I have two nephews, and I reserve the right to send you as many pictures of them as I want when they do something cute.
Do not tell me anything important for the first thirty minutes after I wake up. Do not trust anything I say during the waking up process, either.
My birthday is August 3rd. I swear to Jesus this is the only time I am telling you.
Dibs on Old Spice deodorant. Don’t use the same as me; I don’t want to mistakenly grab the wrong one.
I’m 115 pounds and a 32B. There, now you know.
For unanswered questions on how to be my partner, please sit me down, hand me a latte, and ask away.