Where all the left socks went
My sister-wife will be super smart and able to solve all the world's most perplexing problems -- how to establish world peace, how to keep my children from having nuclear meltdowns in the grocery store, how to make a healthy meal out of the shriveled contents of my near-empty refrigerator and where all the left socks went.
No more getting up at the butt crack of dawn even though I have a fever and a raging migraine to make lunches and fight with toddlers about why they shouldn't put their underwear in the fish tank. My sister-wife and I will spot each other for sick days so neither one of us will ever have to clean puke off the carpet when we're feeling pukey ourselves.
That 100-pound pile of laundry that stalks my every move? Hasta la vista baby! Chores are so much easier when you have someone to share them with. Each night after dinner, we'll spend a few minutes knocking that bad boy out together while we talk about our feelings. It'll be almost like a mom's night out. Only with piles of dirty underwear.
Headless Barbie dolls and broken Legos will no longer be my dining room table centerpiece. My sister-wife will be a professional interior designer and will make our home look modern, fabulous and not covered in peanut butter handprints.
My sister-wife would never let our kids out of the house covered in oatmeal schmear and looking like hobos. She will dress our little sweeties in designer Baby Gap look-alike outfits that she skillfully designed on her own sewing machine for a third of the price.
Most importantly, my sister-wife will love me unconditionally, agree with everything I say (even when I'm wrong), and tell me how pretty I am despite the fact that I am most likely wearing three-day old, spit-up covered, booger-smeared yoga pants. Because that's what sister-wives do.
So what do you think? Do you want to be my sister-wife? Pssst. I think your greasy ponytail is super hot. Just sayin'.