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这是辣妈在北美的第29篇原创文章！
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纽约时报有一个专栏，专栏的名字叫摩登爱情（Modern Love），是我最喜欢看的专栏之一，每周更新一篇情感类的散文，已经追了快2年了。
前几天，Modern Love专栏发表了一篇老婆为老公写的征婚帖子《你可能想嫁给我的丈夫》（You may want to marry my husband），作者名叫AMY KROUSE ROSENTHAL。 
这篇文章阅读量持续升高，并且在纽约时报热点文章的前10名榜单中，占据了好几天的时间，每天几乎都是被email最多的文章，共吸引了1300多条评论。
作者Amy是一位得了卵巢癌，生命已经快走到尽头的妻子，她担心自己死后，丈夫孤苦伶仃，于是给他写了一篇很优美的征婚文章。文章中妻子描绘了一个关爱家人，很懂生活，有情调有担当的美好的丈夫和父亲的形象。
两人结婚26年了，从字里行间可以看得出两个人是很相爱的一对夫妻，拥有很多美好的回忆。他们还一起养育了3个孩子，最小的孩子才刚刚开始上大学。很遗憾的是女主的身体越来越差，时日无多，所以才写下了这篇文章。
狗哥读完后数次落泪，作者笔触细腻，文字优美，句句动人心弦。大家的评论也都很感动，尤其是推荐最多的那条评论，非常有感触。现在这条评论共有1700多个人点赞，狗哥大概翻译了一下：
“虽然你的丈夫听起来是一个非常优秀的男人，但事实是，是我们女人激发出了一个男人的优秀品质。因此，虽然你的丈夫在你和你的孩子们的眼里是美好的，但请不要忘记，是“你自己”开发出了你丈夫的这些优秀的品质。比如像朋友间分享食谱一样，有一个朋友说：“我完全照着你的食谱做了，但我做出来的菜味道却和你的不一样”。这就是我的观点，很多时候，同一个男人在不同的女人面前是不一样的，不管他是在普通交往，约会，还是最终结婚。如果你的丈夫确实如你所描述的那般美好的话，这是因为你自己本身就是美好的女人！”
英文原文评论如下：
“While the hubby sounds like a fabulous guy, the truth is that we women are the ones that bring out the fabulous aspects of a guy. As such, while hubby is wonderful to you and your children, please do not forget that it is "you" who probably brings out a lot of his best qualities. It is like sharing a recipe. Ever have a friend say, "I followed your recipe, but the dish I made did not taste the same as yours"? That's my point. No many is the same with every woman he meets and marry or dates. If your husband is as fabulous as you describe, it is because YOU, too, are fabulous!”
所以啊，这篇“推销丈夫”的软文里，字里行间却也透露了一个聪慧有爱的女性形象啊！
记得以前看过一篇文章，大意是说，有一类女人，不管是嫁给平民百姓还是皇室贵族，都会把日子过的津津有味和饶有情调，柴米油盐也能过成诗和远方。（狗哥认识好几个女性朋友都是这样会过日子的有情调的人，光是看她们生活的状态，就是很美好的享受了）。
狗哥特意上网搜索了下Amy的介绍，她现实生活中也是一位作家，居住在芝加哥，出版了自己的自传，写作了30多本儿童书，还拍过电影短片，是个很有才华而且很高产的作家。Amy是长这样子的⬇️
她的先生是一位芝加哥的律师，这是两人的合影：
Amy也参加过芝加哥当地电台的很多节目，并且在TED上发表过演讲，这是她当时在TED演讲的照片：
这么一个优秀的女性，却时日无多，非常让人唏嘘。虽然她眼中的老公那么优秀和美好，但她自己确实也很棒啊，自带女神光环，她的美好也影响了伴侣和孩子。
纽约时报这篇很感人的文章暂时还没有中文版，于是狗哥就献丑翻译出来给大家看看 。英文好的直接可以跳到最后看原版，并且纽约时报的原文链接在文末也有。
中文翻译（by 狗哥，翻译了98%的内容）：
我想要写这篇文章很久了，但是吗啡的副作用以及对美味多汁的芝士汉堡的想念（我已经大概5个星期没有吃过真正的食物了），已经耗尽我的精力，干扰了我写任何文章的力气。
但是，我必须坚持下去，因为我面临着一个最后期限。在我现在的身体状况下，这个最后期限变得如此紧迫，我必须赶紧说出来，并且用合适的语句正确地表述出来，趁我现在还能吸引你们的注意力，也趁我现在还有一股力气。
我和这个世界上最了不起的男人已经结婚26年了，本来还计划着和这个男人继续过另外一个26年呢。
想听一个笑话吗？一对夫妻在2015年9月5日晚上的深夜走进急诊室，几个小时的测试后，医生告知妻子，原来在她右侧感觉到的不寻常的疼痛，并不是她以为的无关大碍的阑尾炎，而很有可能是卵巢癌。

我们三个孩子中最小的才刚刚离开家里，开始上大学。本来我们还计划正好开始自己的“空巢”二人世界的生活呢。
好多的计划泡汤了。

我不能和我的丈夫以及父母去南非了。现在也没有理由申请哈佛Loeb奖学金了。与我的母亲旅游亚洲的梦想也不可能实现了。更不可能去拜访在印度，温哥华和雅加达那些学校的作家们了。 
难怪癌症（Cancer）和取消（Cancel）看起来这么相似。 
眼下唯一可行的计划就是Plan Be，活在当下。至于未来，请允许我向你们介绍这篇文章要写的这位绅士：Jason Brian Rosenthal。
他是一个非常容易让你爱上的人，当年我只用了一天的时间就爱上了他。
我父亲最好的朋友约翰叔叔是看着我和Jason长大的，但是Jason和我从来没有见过。长大后，我去东部上大学，毕业后又在加利福尼亚州开始了我的第一份工作。
1989年，当我辗转回到芝加哥后，约翰叔叔认为Jason和我是彼此完美的一对，于是安排了我们相亲。
当时我们都只有24岁，对这次相亲完全没有任何期望。但是当他敲开我小小房子的门，我看到他第一眼的时候，我就想，这个人身上有一些我特别喜欢的地方。
等到我们晚饭结束的时候，我就知道我想嫁给Jaon。
而Jason呢，他一年后才知道他想和我结婚。
我从来没有用过Tinder，Bumble或eHarmony这类约会APP，但是我将根据我们在同一所房子里共同生活的9,490天的经验，为Jason创建一份征婚介绍资料。
先说基本情况吧，Jason身高5英尺10英寸（177cm），有着像椒盐一样灰白色的头发和淡褐色的眼睛。
他穿衣很有品味。我们两个年轻的已成年儿子，Justin和Miles，经常借老爸的衣服穿。那些认识他的人 - 或者只是偶然看到他的裤子和鞋子中间间隙的人，都知道他很喜欢有品质的袜子。此外，他身形保持的很好，并且非常注重保持身材。 
如果你到过我家，你会知道Jason是多么的能干，他很会做饭。有时候，漫长的一天工作结束后，没有比看到他出现在门口，把杂货袋放在柜子上准备做饭前，先掏出特意给我买的橄榄和美味奶酪，更让我甜蜜快乐了。
Jason喜欢听现场音乐，这也是我们最喜欢一起做的事儿。我还要补充一点，我们19岁的女儿，Paris，喜欢和老爸去音乐会胜过和任何人去。
他绝对是一个好父亲，可以随便问。任何一个人都会告诉你，杰森是很有同理心的 - 他还会翻煎饼呢。 
杰森喜欢画画。我非常热爱他的艺术品，我依然会称他为艺术家，即使他的法律学位让他成了律师，从而在他市中心办公室度多大多数朝九晚五的日子，至少在我生病之前是这样。 
如果你正在寻找一个梦幻的，可以一起旅行的伴侣，Jason就是你要找的人。他还对微小的东西很感兴趣：小勺子，小罐子以及坐在长凳上的一对夫妇的迷你雕塑。他说这个雕塑提醒了我们是如何开始创建我们自己的小家庭的。

Jason是这样一种人：他在我第一次做怀孕超声波的时候，捧着一束鲜花出现在了医院。Jason喜欢早起，所以每个星期天早上都会给我惊喜，利用咖啡壶附近的物品，比如勺子，杯子，香蕉等，弄出一些奇怪的笑脸逗我开心。 
有时候，Jason从加油站的便利店里出来，和我说，“张开你的手掌”，然后我的掌心便出现了一个个五颜六色的软糖（他知道我除了白色的软糖外，别的都很喜欢吃。） 
我猜你们现在已经对Jason有所了解了，待我继续和你们讲他的事情。
对了，我有没有提到他是多么英俊吗？我想我会很想念注视他的脸的。
如果他听起来像一个王子，那我们的关系似乎是一个童话故事，我们玩了20多年的过家家，把所有童话过家家的常规事情都经历过了，只是除了我得癌症的部分。哎。

在我前几年出版的回忆录里（此书写在我被诊断出癌症之前），我邀请读者发送纹身图案的建议（我会和选中的读者纹同样的图案），想法是作家和读者将通过墨水结合。 
我对此非常认真，鼓励提交者也认真。数百人给了我建议。在8月出版后的几个星期里，我听到一个在密尔沃基城市的62岁的图书馆管理员Paulette说，她建议“更多”（More）这个词，因为我在这本回忆录中的一篇文章中提到“更多”（More）是我小时候第一个说的词（这是真的）。现在它可能是我的最后一次说了（时间会给出答案的）。

在9月，Paulette开车来到芝加哥，我们在一个纹身店里见面了。她在她的左手腕纹了“More”，这是她的第一个纹身。我在我的左前臂的下面纹了，是我的女儿的手写的“More”。这是我的第二个纹身， 第一个是一个小小的，小写的“j”，已经在我的脚踝25年了。你可能猜到它代表什么。 Jason也有一个，但是有更多的字母：“AKR”（作者Amy名字的缩写--狗哥注）。
我想要更多的时间和Jason在一起。我想和我的孩子有更多的时间。我想在星期四晚上去绿色爵士俱乐部有更多的时间去喝马丁尼酒。但这些不会发生了。我可能只有几天的时间在这个星球上逗留了。那为什么我还写这篇文章呢？ 
我想在情人节这天把这篇文章写完，当作是我最真诚的，并非只是花瓶的礼物送出去。希望对的人能看到这篇文章，找到Jason，然后开始另外一个爱情故事。
我特意在下方留了一大片空白，这样，你们就可以开始书写属于你们的，崭新的篇章。
英文原文：
I have been trying to write this for a while, but the morphine and lack of juicy cheeseburgers (what has it been now, five weeks without real food?) have drained my energy and interfered with whatever prose prowess remains. 
Additionally, the intermittent micronaps that keep whisking me away midsentence are clearly not propelling my work forward as quickly as I would like. But they are, admittedly, a bit of trippy fun.
Still, I have to stick with it, because I’m facing a deadline, in this case, a pressing one. I need to say this (and say it right) while I have a) your attention, and b) a pulse.
I have been married to the most extraordinary man for 26 years. I was planning on at least another 26 together.
Want to hear a sick joke? A husband and wife walk into the emergency room in the late evening on Sept. 5, 2015. A few hours and tests later, the doctor clarifies that the unusual pain the wife is feeling on her right side isn’t the no-biggie appendicitis they suspected but rather ovarian cancer.
As the couple head home in the early morning of Sept. 6, somehow through the foggy shock of it all, they make the connection that today, the day they learned what had been festering, is also the day they would have officially kicked off their empty-nestering. The youngest of their three children had just left for college.
So many plans instantly went poof.
No trip with my husband and parents to South Africa. No reason, now, to apply for the Harvard Loeb Fellowship. No dream tour of Asia with my mother. No writers’ residencies at those wonderful schools in India, Vancouver, Jakarta.
No wonder the word cancer and cancel look so similar.
This is when we entered what I came to think of as Plan “Be,” existing only in the present. As for the future, allow me to introduce you to the gentleman of this article, Jason Brian Rosenthal.
He is an easy man to fall in love with. I did it in one day.
Let me explain: My father’s best friend since summer camp, “Uncle” John, had known Jason and me separately our whole lives, but Jason and I had never met. I went to college out east and took my first job in California. When I moved back home to Chicago, John — who thought Jason and I were perfect for each other — set us up on a blind date.
It was 1989. We were only 24. I had precisely zero expectations about this going anywhere. But when he knocked on the door of my little frame house, I thought, “Uh-oh, there is something highly likable about this person.”
By the end of dinner, I knew I wanted to marry him.
Jason? He knew a year later.
I have never been on Tinder, Bumble or eHarmony, but I’m going to create a general profile for Jason right here, based on my experience of coexisting in the same house with him for, like, 9,490 days.
First, the basics: He is 5-foot-10, 160 pounds, with salt-and-pepper hair and hazel eyes.
The following list of attributes is in no particular order because everything feels important to me in some way.
He is a sharp dresser. Our young adult sons, Justin and Miles, often borrow his clothes. Those who know him — or just happen to glance down at the gap between his dress slacks and dress shoes — know that he has a flair for fabulous socks. He is fit and enjoys keeping in shape.
If our home could speak, it would add that Jason is uncannily handy. On the subject of food — man, can he cook. After a long day, there is no sweeter joy than seeing him walk in the door, plop a grocery bag down on the counter, and woo me with olives and some yummy cheese he has procured before he gets to work on the evening’s meal.
Jason loves listening to live music; it’s our favorite thing to do together. I should also add that our 19-year-old daughter, Paris, would rather go to a concert with him than anyone else.
When I was working on my first memoir, I kept circling sections my editor wanted me to expand upon. She would say, “I’d like to see more of this character.”
Of course, I would agree — he was indeed a captivating character. But it was funny because she could have just said: “Jason. Let’s add more about Jason.”
He is an absolutely wonderful father. Ask anyone. See that guy on the corner? Go ahead and ask him; he’ll tell you. Jason is compassionate — and he can flip a pancake.
Jason paints. I love his artwork. I would call him an artist except for the law degree that keeps him at his downtown office most days from 9 to 5. Or at least it did before I got sick.
If you’re looking for a dreamy, let’s-go-for-it travel companion, Jason is your man. He also has an affinity for tiny things: taster spoons, little jars, a mini-sculpture of a couple sitting on a bench, which he presented to me as a reminder of how our family began.
Here is the kind of man Jason is: He showed up at our first pregnancy ultrasound with flowers. This is a man who, because he is always up early, surprises me every Sunday morning by making some kind of oddball smiley face out of items near the coffeepot: a spoon, a mug, a banana.
This is a man who emerges from the minimart or gas station and says, “Give me your palm.” And, voilà, a colorful gumball appears. (He knows I love all the flavors but white.)
My guess is you know enough about him now. So let’s swipe right.
Wait. Did I mention that he is incredibly handsome? I’m going to miss looking at that face of his.
If he sounds like a prince and our relationship seems like a fairy tale, it’s not too far off, except for all of the regular stuff that comes from two and a half decades of playing house together. And the part about me getting cancer. Blech.
In my most recent memoir (written entirely before my diagnosis), I invited readers to send in suggestions for matching tattoos, the idea being that author and reader would be bonded by ink.
I was totally serious about this and encouraged submitters to be serious as well. Hundreds poured in. A few weeks after publication in August, I heard from a 62-year-old librarian in Milwaukee named Paulette.
She suggested the word “more.” This was based on an essay in the book where I mention that “more” was my first spoken word (true). And now it may very well be my last (time shall tell).
In September, Paulette drove down to meet me at a Chicago tattoo parlor. She got hers (her very first) on her left wrist. I got mine on the underside of my left forearm, in my daughter’s handwriting. This was my second tattoo; the first is a small, lowercase “j” that has been on my ankle for 25 years. You can probably guess what it stands for. Jason has one too, but with more letters: “AKR.”
I want more time with Jason. I want more time with my children. I want more time sipping martinis at the Green Mill Jazz Club on Thursday nights. But that is not going to happen. I probably have only a few days left being a person on this planet. So why I am doing this?
I am wrapping this up on Valentine’s Day, and the most genuine, non-vase-oriented gift I can hope for is that the right person reads this, finds Jason, and another love story begins.
I’ll leave this intentional empty space below as a way of giving you two the fresh start you deserve.
The End
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