Dear Bob Belcher,
You are my perfect man. I mean, except for the mustache. I really don’t like mustaches. Unless they’re connected to a goatee, or even a nicely trimmed beard. But you are kind of funny-looking without the mustache, so … you are my perfect man.
I love how accepting you are of your family’s strange behaviors. And they’re all strange. Especially Tina. And Gene. Also Linda. But not Louise, because Louise is perfect.
I love how you’re a hamburger chef, because sometimes, Bob, I don’t feel like making dinner. Sometimes, Bob, I get home from work and I don’t want to make dinner at all. So we could have hamburgers! Or something! You like cooking, right? You would make dinner for me, right?
I love how you always try your best, and also how when you talk to inanimate objects, you make them talk back. That’s so endearing! In fact, lately I’ve started talking to inanimate objects and having them talk back. It’s probably because I love you so much, or because I watch too much TV and am easily influenced.
I love how you get along with all your neighbors, except for Jimmy Pesto, because he’s a jerk, and that mean old lady from the arts and crafts store. She’s really mean! You’re totally in the right not to like her! And I support you in that, even if it means I wouldn’t be able to buy crafting supplies. But why would I need crafting supplies when I have the love of a good man who once accidentally made out with his sister-in-law?
So, Bob, if anything happens to Linda — and not that I want anything to happen to Linda, God, no, I love that woman, and I would never, never push her in front of a car just to propel you into early widower-hood — I’d like you to keep me in mind. We could double-date with, I don’t know, Marshmallow.