Dearest,

I've always wondered why you married me. I'm generic. I look like every other guy. I'm not tall, hunky, or even passably good-looking. My mother tells me I look okay but then again, she's my mother. She's genetically hotwired to be blind to my flaws. Not you, though. If you were, you wouldn't have run me over. I should have sued you for mauling me that way, you know? But when I came to and found you peering at me with such an anxious look, I didn't have the heart to take you to court. Instead, I fell in love with you.

I love you because you're beautiful, intelligent, and kind. And though you can't cook (in fact, you burned our kitchen the last time you tried to), you know just which place to call for pizza and Chinese take-out. You know the name and dating history of all the actors and actresses we see in the movies - and you cry each time the good guy gets the girl in the end. You slip little love notes into my lunch. You send me the funniest emails while I'm at work. You're good with the kids and even better around adults.

I wonder how you do it - be both wonderful and maddening at the same time. You dress up like you were born with a trust fund. No one would ever suspect you shop using coupons or that you've never met a wrapping paper you cannot re-use at least a dozen times more. You laugh a lot, talk non-stop, and end up charming everyone you meet. Sometimes, I wonder if I should beat up each man you charm into carrying your grocery bags for you. Then I remember why there's no need for me to. You ran me over while you simply bossed all those men around. In my mind, the deal is sealed. Those men will never have what I have - a woman who, by almost ending my life, showed me how beautiful it is to be alive and loved.

I love you, my darling, and I hope you know my breath still catches in my throat each time I wake up to find you beside you.

P.S This letter doesn't change anything. You're still a terrible driver and each time you take the wheels, the kids and I see our lives pass before our eyes.