It took me longer than I’d like to admit to figure out Flo Rida’s native state.
I have never beaten the first Super Mario Brothers game even though I have claimed to on several occasions.
I ate the last HoHo.
I do not love country music even though I told you I did to get you to go out with me.
My bunny tattoo does not commemorate a little girl who died far, far too young, but the loss of a rather juvenile bet over whether a frog would hop into a shoebox of its own accord or not.
That loud fart that happened in the middle of that formal dinner when I met your Mom and Step-Dad, that was me. You probably already realized that, but that noxious smell you identified several seconds later? Also me.
I said my friend’s dog was mine because you liked animals and I liked you. His name is Buddy not Priscilla.
The song I said I wrote for you was really written by the guy who wrote Living La Vida Loca and he didn’t write it for you.
You may have figured this out, but I do not know how to dance.
I said “I love u-nicycles” because my palms started sweating and I felt an uncontrollable urge to run when I tried to tell you something else.
I know all the words to every song Britney Spears has ever sung.
Buddy/Priscilla never had gastrointestinal cancer.
Also at that formal dinner with your Mom and Step-Dad. The dog didn’t pee all over the rug, that was me… I spilled lemonade… Not the other thing.
Buddy/Priscilla did not get hit by a car before the cancer could get him.
I ate the first HoHo.
The Spice Girls are my favorite band.
The unicycle classes were the best gift I ever received, despite telling you I didn’t do them.
Buddy/Priscilla also did not contract necrotising pancreatitis while recovering from the car accident and cancer.
I have never worked in the orphan industry.
That was the worst way I could have possibly stated that. What I meant to say was I never cared for orphans.
What I really meant to say was that I’ve never been a caregiver for children without parents.
I can’t stand your Mom or that your Step-Dad is younger than us.
I do not find your “super awesome and delicious” casserole super awesome or delicious.
You do look fat in that, but that’s the outfit’s fault not yours.
Buddy/Priscilla also did not get bitten by a rabid dog and have to be put down after nearly beating cancer, the car accident, and necrotising pancreatitis.
I ate every other HoHo in the box.
Buddy/Priscilla’s medical bills were real, they’re just gambling debts.
Seeing your suitcases in the hall punched a hole in my heart the size of a car.
I’ve cried myself to sleep every night since you left.
I cannot live without you.