This American Life

Me: Hey, in case you feel like making an honest woman out of me.

Ian: Well that works about perfect since I was going to propose anyway.

Me: Where will we live? England? The United States?

Ian: Hicksville, Alabama with our 18 kids.

Me: 18 kids will ruin my girlish figure.

Ian: You'll be too busy in the kitchen to worry about that.

Me: You'll stop having sex with me, and spend every night at the bar chatting up that drunken slut Betty Lou. And then you'll get her knocked up and we'll all go on Jerry Springer.

Ian: Sounds like bliss.

Me: And she'll call you her baby-Daddy, and I'll be humiliated.

Ian: I want this life. So bad. It hurts.

Me: Can we live in a trailer and have loud fights and throw beer bottles?

Ian: Sure, but only if we can also have rusty old cars in various states of disrepair in front of it. Can we fly the confederate flag? And our eldest son will join the Klan.

Me: We'll name him Cyrus.

Ian: And he'll marry a girl called Mary-Bob, who will have suspicious facial hair and 7 toes, due to inbreeding.

Me: We can drag the couch out in front of the trailer and sunbathe and get drunk.

Ian: Well -- I can, with my football buddies. You can bring us beer and chips and I'll feel you up in front of them. "She may look like an elephant, but she fucks like a minx on heat -- dontcha?"

Me: And we can have some repeated names for the kids, because we'll be so drunk we'll forget we already have one by that name.

Ian: I love our hillbilly dream. Do you have a sister I can sleep with? That'd be perfect.

Me: Yes! And she's really young.

Ian: I would, however, have to be quite abusive towards you -- you do understand? I expect to be waited on hand and foot. And you will never have satisfying sex the whole time we're together -- unless it's with yourself or our dog.

Me: That dirty, dirty mutt. White trash love, baby.

Ian: Who'll end up in a drunken shotgun incident?

Me: You'll shoot yourself in the foot and then be able to collect disability, which is how we will buy all the Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.

Ian: Can I call people a "son of a bitch pile of monkey nuts" and get away with it?

Me. Kinda. Try "sum bitch pile o' monkey nuts."

Ian: Also, I'll be arrested most weekends and thrown in a cell for drunken brawling.

Me: Oooh, one night you'll shoot the TV because your football team loses! And we'll keep it outside with a big hole through it! And we'll never leave the trailer park.

Ian: Well sure, the truck doesn't actually work -- though I will insist that I am fixing it up. And I'll have to go over to Billy Ray's trailer to watch the game.

Me: I hate Billy Ray. He's always grabbing my ass.

Ian: Billy-Ray is a sum bitch, gonna kick his ass yessirree.

Me: Aw, baby. You really do love me, dontcha?