I love you so much. I know it's traditional, but I want to take your name. Your whole name. And your identifying physical features and 2018 Toyota Highlander.

I know it's kind of weird these days, but it's just sort of what I grew up with, I guess. My mom took my dad's name—and fingerprints, and mustache, and a high-resolution scan of his face with a state-of-the-art LIDAR device. So I don't care what my friends say. I'm going to do it too.

That's nice of you to offer, but if we're really going to become one, we're going to have to share everything of yours with me.

No, don't change your name. That would ruin everything.

Some people think that taking the man's last name is like saying you're his property. Which is so silly, if you think about it. If anything, I see this as taking all of your property and making my own.

This is so exciting! I'm ready to take the plunge with you. Down a ravine, skydiving. I'll handle all the paperwork. (I don't know if they're fully licensed.)

I know it's important to you to dismantle the patriarchy. That's very sweet. But I really just need your teeth. Tell you what, you can dismantle that bridgework. That would help me out a lot.

Speaking of the patriarchy, stop yammering on for a second. You want to help destroy the patriarchy? You ready? Good. Empty your pockets. Give me your wallet. No, it's not an academic exercise. And your sandwich. Give me that.

I can see it now. I'm ready to become Mr. James Gomez. Mrs.? Oh yes, right, Mrs. James Gomez. Right. Totally.

You complete me. And I'm going to finish you. Huh? What. What did I say?

Just think about our wedding day. The church. Our parents will be there. My dad and mom. And your dad. And your mom. And what's her maiden name and the street you grew up on, by the way?

I've always been a bit old-fashioned. I want to see you come home with rolled-up shirtsleeves after a long day at work. And me, in a messy bun, with dinner on the table, and the house is on fire, but I'm safely far away (like 500 miles), gunning it to Fort Lauderdale in the luxury of say, the best-in-its-class 2018 Toyota Highlander, wearing a silicone mold of your face and having burnt off my fingertips.

Don't look at me like that.

I want you to get my father's blessing before we do this, though. He'd like to meet, but he'd prefer to talk over the phone. It's really, really sad. He runs a tech support call center all day, it sounds like he uses a voice modulator (but don't make fun of him — that's how he talks), and he NEEDS you to share your screen and get him some Target gift cards ASAP.