I started three letters to you this week and couldn’t decide which one to finish.

So I didn’t.

Instead, I put all three beginnings here and thought you could choose which one I finish first—as if you don’t have enough to do–dammit, Ann.

Here’s what you’re voting on:

Letter #1: Tim McGraw vs. My Pelvic Floor

Letter #2: If You Knew You Were Going to Die.. (Nope. Wrong Question).

Letter #3: Who Empties the Dishwasher (and Other Relationship Math)

Read them. Rank them. Comment 1, 2, or 3 below.

(Comments on my website count. Email replies don’t. I love you, but the system needs order.)

I’ll tally the votes and finish them in the order you choose.

LETTER #1: Tim McGraw vs. My Pelvic Floor

Vote: Comment “1” if you want me to finish this one first.

What is harder in life than to live like you’re dying but, in case you don’t die, like, right away, you have enough pelvic floor strength and bone density to get through the rest of your life without breaking a leg and peeing your pants?

I had this very deep, very necessary thought while driving to pick up my daughter from the airport.

I think it’s obvious I heard to Tim McGraw song Live Like You Were Dying and had a little argument with Tim. The song is the story of an old sick guy hoping that the young guy gets a chance to live (like you were dying). Because then he, too, can go sky diving, Rocky Mountain climbing, and hang on for 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu.

But, Tim, I said in my head, my taxes are due, I don’t do enough Kegels, and I’m going to get fined if I don’t shovel today. Tim said, “I mean, Ann. Can I call you Ann? I’m just saying don’t wait on your dreams.” And I said, “Obviously, yeah. But also, my taxes….”

And then I realized that this bucket list thing, this no-day-wasted thing, is based on a very flawed assumption, and that stopped Tim dead (ahem) in his tracks. “Tim,” I said….

LETTER #2: If You Knew You Were Going to Die…..(Nope. No. Uh-uh).

Vote: Comment “2” if this is your pick.

If you know you’re going to die, what would you do with the time you have left? Here’s why I don’t think that is the right question to ask. The assumption is that we are all gallivanting around, flagrantly wasting sacred moments of our lives. That, if we got ourselves together and thought for a second, we could level the F up.

I feel like this question comes from a snotty, superior person who listens to too many podcasts. If that person were in front of me right now, I’d ask them if I should put my leftover peas in a Tupperware container for the future, or not?

Like, if I know I’m dying, yeah, maybe I would not save my peas. But what if I’m only theoretically dying? I ask because I have a lot of gunk in the cup I keep my toothbrush in—should I clean that or let it grow, plant it in the spring, and revel in nature? Like hypothetically or for real?

You see, I for one need a different question, a different lesson, and if you are a woman of this world, I bet you need it too. This is how I stop the insanity of a world that wants me, every day, to throw my peas to the wind, be my best self, and seize the day….

LETTER #3: Who Empties the Dishwasher (and Other Relationship Math)

Vote: Comment “3” if you want this one finished.

I’ve long said that every relationship is about what to keep and what to give. Whether it’s a friend, romantic relationship, or the person that does your hair, every time we engage we have to decide what’s fair, what do I want, what do they want, how much can I handle, what is appropriate, what is okay. Who empties the dishwasher? But, like, for real, who empties the dishwasher? Because my hair lady never empties the dishwasher, and I’m okay with that.

Relationships are complicated, and as a recovering people pleaser who’s trying hard not to be codependent, I struggled with how much money to gift my mail carrier this holiday season because my dog barks at him a lot, and I appreciate how he never flips Peanut off. So, I want to show my appreciation without going crazy.

So I’ve had to learn boundaries in all things. And, man, it took some work. I didn’t grow up in the times when women said, “I am taking a day off!” I grew up in the times when someone was sick, I signed up to bring a casserole to their house on three more days than I wanted to because no one else could do it on September 15, 16, or 22nd.

But then I read this perfect thing that helped me figure a few things out…..

Tell me in the comments: 1, 2, or 3.
You can explain yourself or not.
I will tally the votes and finish them in the order you choose.

I trust you. (Mostly.)

XX ANN