Mr. and Mrs. Schuster, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I've been working up the nerve to speak with you for almost a month now, and I woke up this morning just knowing I couldn't keep it in any longer. You might think me old-fashioned, but my parents raised me to respect tradition, and I just wouldn't feel right without talking to you first.
If you haven't already guessed, I called you here tonight because I'd like to ask for your daughter's hand in becoming Facebook official.
I like your daughter very much, and, more importantly, I really like the pictures of us from that farmer's market we visited last weekend. It would mean the world to me if I could tag us both in them and comment something ironic like "Couple of the Year" on a picture of us looking lame but well-dressed by a pile of squash.
I understand, sir. It may seem fast, but even though we've only been dating a couple weeks, our log of messages goes back for months. I'll never forget the first time she commented on that Buzzfeed quiz Laura posted; I pretended to also get Charizard even though it said I was a Cubone, and I liked the results on her wall. It all sounds so cinematic saying it out loud, doesn't it?
We're both independent, financially-secure adults with over 350 followers on our Twitter accounts. I promise you that I will always be there to retweet your daughters best Game of Thrones references, and that I will take care of her when she is burned by some anon's post on her fashion Tumblr. Honestly, if you don't like floral rompers, what are you even doing on that blog in the first place?
Sure, we're not perfect--what couple is? I'll admit that we don't always see eye to eye, and that her all-lowercase, no punctuation statues are kind of tacky, but still, I think it's time to take the next step. God has a plan for all of us, and I'd be honored to follow in the footsteps of good people like yourselves by changing my relationship status to something other than "It's Complicated" or "Married" to the Facebook profile of my cat.
It would be a quiet ceremony, with a modest pic of us in sunglasses at that nice brunch place. Not sure yet if I'll crop the mimosa out, but we'll see. And of course, I'd want to write my own status, as I'm sure your daughter would. Believe me, sir, I will curate the comments with every fiber of my being, and like every single "omg Congrats!!!!" we receive. I would never do anything to hurt your daughter's online image.
No need to apologize, ma'am. I'm sure my own mother will cry when she sees her newsfeed. Assuming I decide to unblock her.