This is the last thing I thought I’d be doing while on a plane to come rescue your ass. I mean really, what does it mean that it takes us having to rescue you, for me to finally tell you how I really feel? I have no idea if you are even alive.
You better be alive, Steve. I
don’t think know that I won’t be able to deal with it, if you’re dead. I just can’t imagine my life without you in it. Just, please, don’t make me find out what that’s like.
Before we left, Grace called me. She knew something was wrong. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her. She just wanted to make sure you were okay. I told her that you would be, and not to worry. Don’t make me a liar. Please.
So, I guess I better get to the point of this. I don’t care that you tend to get me shot at, or blown up. I don’t care that you have a problem calling for backup. No matter how many times I complain, I really don’t mind that you drive my car all the time. I love you, you big goof. So, you better be okay.
P.S.: Any chance of making our current living arrangements more permanent?