...and tells me she's going to be working late.
Perfect. Now I can write this in peace.
You say you don't read this anymore, but I know you do. I like that. I want you to.
I want you to because of things like this. I don't, or can't, always say what I should, when I should.
This makes it a little easier.
These last eleven months have been the most frustrating, disappointing, and yet exciting months of my life. In a sick kind of way they have also been the happiest. Happy because of what we are trying to do together. Not me, not you, but us, together.
I know, because I get impatient and frustrated, I annoy the very living shit out of you, I am trying my best not to. You handle that very very well. Please don't confuse this 'annoying you' with my regular, everyday 'annoying you', that's my favourite past-time and frankly, it's my duty as your loving husband.
I'm sorry that, as of yet, I haven't been able to give you what you want, but I will do absolutely anything to make it happen.
When it does, it's going to be bigger and better and a million times more fun than we can imagine right now, I'm sure of it.
So, my daft wife, my very own 'cheese bitch', I just wanted to let you know that I love ya, I might even get drunk sometime and actually tell you for real, if you're really lucky.
Why am I saying this anyway?
Aside from what you may believe, it's not just because I want to be able to watch the football in peace later. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be writing this, or putting my wobbly bits through humiliation, or talking to my own semen, or any of this insanity, so it's only appropriate that entry 100 (100! -for f*&^ sake woman, get knocked up already!) is just for you.
Love, your chubby fingered hubby.
P.S. Pity you don't read this anymore though...