I love hearing you play the piano around the house. and the guitar. and the harmonica (kind of). thanks for always touching the raw meat and being very sensitive to my fears of cross contamination. and not being mad when I left the oven on for eight hours (whoops). and taking me rock jumping in the park. and putting out that fire that I accidentally (don’t pour olive oil into a hot dutch oven, people) ignited in the kitchen. thanks for being careful with your words & never manipulating me.
also you make good omelettes.
p.s. this letter totally makes it sound like I can’t be trusted in our kitchen. I promise it’s not that bad. …right david?