My Open Love Letter To Young, Hot AF Joe Biden

"You’re not just a tall drink of water. You’re a steaming cup of Joe."

Well hello, Circa 1968 Joe Biden,

When I first saw you across the crowded news feed of my Facebook in a post one friend shared on another's wall, I couldn't help but stop mid-mindless scroll. Until that moment, I never believed in love at first sight. 

Then again, I've never responded this viscerally to a picture posted on a vice president's personal Instagram two years ago to promote the Affordable Care Act and then resurfaced this past week on Twitter in the wake of the 2016 presidential election.

As far as recent national tragedies go, nothing may leave quite as dark a stain on American history as just how long it took we the people to put aside our differences and come together to recognize your beauty.  

E pluribus unu-hmmmm.

Seriously, you're way hotter than Damn, Daniel, Ken Bone, and Pokemon Go combined — and you can bet I don't say that to all the boys. (I mean, I would say it to young Tim Kaine, too. But that's not my fault. Have you seen his cheekbones?) 

I have no idea what America was thinking this past year. But then again, neither do 61,047,206 others. 

Regardless of how long it took us, we see you now. I see you now. 

Your attractive AF picture came into my life when I, and the rest of America's youth culture, needed it most. Just when I felt sure I'd never feel pure again, your smile assured me I could — and did. 

You gave me a reason to hope, to dream, to look into your current family history for any eligible grandsons.

(They weren't any, but hmu if Hunter's marriage suddenly takes a nosedive.)

In my Taylor Swift-approved wildest dreams, I imagine you're reaching into the brown paper bag to pull out a bottle of wine, which we will share over a candlelit dinner that you spent hours cooking in the tiny kitchen we share in a mildly gentrified apartment together. When I ask why'd you go to all this trouble on a Tuesday night, you say, "Just because," with the smile that launched 40,000 retweets. 

Other times, I imagine you reaching into that paper bag to hand me a Twinkie, which I will also gladly accept along with your undying love and affection. Well, maybe not your undying love and affection, maybe just your unmaimed love and affection. 

I am, after all, a strong, independent, nasty woman with a rich, inner life, burgeoning pantsuit collection, and just enough free time to imagine a fictional relationship with a younger version of my country's vice president but not enough free time to imagine a fictional relationship with a stage-five clinger version of my country's vice president, no matter how hot he was nearly 40 years ago.

Still, I don't need a FiveThirtyEight poll to tell me 10/10 would recommend a date with you — at least among meme-consuming millennials. 

You’re not just a tall drink of water. You’re a steaming cup of Joe.

If it had it my way, I wouldn't a-Biden another moment without you. 

But it isn't up to me. The universe has destined us to be star-crossed lovers or Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves in that movie with the lake house I never actually saw because you basically got the gist from the trailer, and also I've never been sold on Keanu Reeves as leading man material. 

But no matter how long it takes, I'll be Biden my time until someone (not me, obviously, because I'm a smart, funny, but totally down-to-earth writer with zero delusions of grandeur who would make SUCH a good impression on your mom) finally comes up with a real-life flux capacitor so I can travel back to 1968. 

When that happens, I’ll be like, “Oh, hey Joe, wanna discuss all the reasons I’d made a great vice president’s wife and chill?"

If all goes well, I wouldn't mind even staying in 1968 for good. Sure, women, LGBTQ people, and basically any non-White person lacked basic human rights back then, but you'll be there. That'll make it feel just like home. 

Xoxo, Lindsay