I would make him incredibly happy. True, I can’t cook, I don’t really like children, and I would probably crash our new Audi while taking it for a test drive…but I would win him over with my biting sense of humor and give him a foot massage while he plans his next murder and cleans his guns. Here’s why I would make a wicked awesome wife:
I wouldn’t question why he disappears for days, as long as he wouldn’t question why I only eat banana peppers and hot sauce.
I love boxing, and he owns a boxing gym. I would jab my way into his heart.
I’m from Boston, and so is he. Wicked cute. We could gaze longingly into each other’s eyes over a hazelnut Dunkies while talking about the Red Sox, and how Sully is a bad-ass.
I find his arrogance and deep voice intoxicating.
I would totes become BFFs with his cute little lesbian assistant. Chick’s got crazy good style and a deliciously sassy attitude.
I’d become a solid drinking buddy for his emotionally-stunted brother. We’d enjoy cheap whiskey and I would hug him and try to help him stay on a path to fulfillment and stability.
I would try to pretend that his cheating didn’t bother me, as long as he is cool with me cuddling with his emotionally-stunted brother after too much Seagrams 7.
If I ever found a dead body in the backyard, I would stick it in the wood chipper, toss the evidence into the neighbor’s yard, then call the cops. I’m just a good wife like that.