Steven, all the things I did that irritated you, both real and funny make me smile. But the smile is a sad one. When my yawn turns into a melody, no one says, "Really?" I'm thinking maybe I might start yawning normal.
Every time I eat oatmeal with raisins, you are not here to offer it to, even though I know you hated it.
No one blesses me even when I sneeze really loud. And when I holler up from the basement, "Why am I down here?", no one reminds me.
I hear no loud sigh as I unload the dishwasher a little too loudly. And when I unpack groceries and throw the plastic bags over my head, no one asks me if I must do that.
I had BLTs and named the letter (drawing it out for full effect) for each thing I put on my sandwich, but it wasn't the same as when you would growl in frustration.
There is no argument over whether to rinse the pasta. And I can't complain about the way you would fast forward on the DVR, going 1/2 way into the show. Now I fast forward and go 1/2 way into the show.
I bought a new plant and did not have to sneak it into the house. I moved furniture around and you aren't here to complain. Your dad had my oil changed and now I'll have to keep track of my mileage, because he will probably really get mad.
My overreaction to one mosquito bite is no longer fun.
I don't have to sneak cracking open a bedroom window when I go to bed. I have smelly candles all over the house and light them all at the same time.
I finally got to move the big orange container of Goop from under the sink. There is no one to hand me a tissue when I cry at something on TV. No one makes me stop and sit when I work too hard, or threatens me with, "If I hear one word about your back tomorrow..."
I still lift my mug of beer and say cheers. I like to think you are doing the same with a really good import.