an open letter to my husband

Suppose, some day, I go missing because I got kidnapped on a trip to Russia. Maybe you were with me on the trip, maybe not.
You are looking for me for a long time, and eventually the government declares me legally dead.
Here’s what I need you to do:
It’s not like I’m a government conspiracy theorist or something, it’s just that I firmly believe that my life will go down like an episode of “Alias.”
If they happen to finally find “my” body, do not believe that it is mine. Even if it is just bones and they swear that the teeth match up to my dental X-rays, DON’T BELIEVE THEM.
Check out my teeth yourself and compare them to the X-rays. Because I don’t want to show up in five years and find you married again. I will be so pissed. And yes, I will probably beat up your new wife, because I will have been in Russia, honing my martial arts and weapon skills while trying to escape from the country without attracting the notice of the KGB. (Yeah, I know they’re supposed to be gone, but I DON’T BELIEVE THEM.)


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