I know you like me. I know it. For the last year or two you’ve been pretending like you hate me. I love you very much. I love you as much as I love anybody, as much as I love myself. And in a few years, when I haven’t been around to be on your tail about something or irritating you, you’re gonna remember. You’ll remember that time when I bought you the baseball glove when you thought we were too broke. You know? Or when, I read you those stories, or, or when I let you goof off instead of mowing the lawn, lots of things like that. And you’re gonna realize that you love me. And maybe you’re gonna feel bad, because you never told me, but don’t. I know that you love me. So don’t ever do that to yourself, all right?