This seems like the perfect way to honor my beloved Elizabeth for all that she does for me. For instance, she’s always framing me for crimes I didn’t commit and I’m constantly going to jail because she wants to encourage me to step outside my comfort zone and make new friends. Many of these friends tell me to get a divorce because my marriage sounds, in their words, “unhealthy.” Nice try dudes. I know you’re just trying to get my wife single so you can have a chance with her.

Good luck solving the dozens of Saw-esque trials she creates to prove to her you’re worthy of matrimony.

If I’m to carve a pumpkin that truly possesses Elizabeth’s unique attractive charm, it’s got to make me both horny AND scared. I’ve carved pumpkins that have made me scared. And obviously, I’ve carved pumpkins that have made me horny (dozens of them, in fact). But both? I’ve got a better chance of Elizabeth letting me pilot her drone, which is of course off-limits to me. It is exclusively used so Elizabeth can tie my belongings to it and drop them from towering heights if I’ve misbehaved. Last week, she dropped my phone from 200 feet because she caught me reading Family Circus comics on it (Family Circus is the forbidden comic because Elizabeth doesn’t believe that it teaches worthwhile family lessons, like how to cure rattlesnake bites or the proper way to clean a sword’s blade).

And as if my problems couldn’t get any worse, the farmer at the pumpkin patch is threatening to stop selling me any more pumpkins because he thinks what I’m doing is “fucked up.” There is nothing “fucked up” about trying to make a pumpkin as sexy as your wife. Sorry! And if the pumpkin was as sexy as my wife but not as mean to me, who knows, maybe I could marry the pumpkin. This is what 90-95% of guys do with pumpkins, and if this farmer doesn’t think so, he’s just kidding himself.

In the midst of my creative frustration, I tried just carving a classic pumpkin with the triangle eyes and the big square teeth to loosen myself up for the real masterpiece. Unfortunately, I somehow unintentionally imbued this pumpkin with the sexual charisma I failed to capture in my previous efforts. Clearly this pumpkin was too powerful, and I was planning to destroy it by casting it into the tiger den at the zoo (same thing I do with the Christmas tree every year), but unfortunately, Elizabeth found it before I had the chance. Instantly, she was smitten with the pumpkin’s clear superiority over me. The pumpkin, for example, has a bunch of seeds inside it that you can roast to make a delicious fall snack. Pretty much nothing that comes out of me would make a nice treat, and even if it did, you couldn’t eat it because all the pollution I’ve ingested from Elizabeth dunking my head into the Hudson would make it toxic.

It takes a big man to admit that the pumpkin who stole his wife is the bigger man than he is. But in admitting that the pumpkin is the bigger man, I am expressing a degree of self-awareness the pumpkin is incapable of, thus making me the bigger man. It’s only a matter of time until Elizabeth realizes this and comes crawling back.

And if that doesn’t work, I can always just smash the pumpkin.