You were responsible for the faux Texas accent I adopted for two full years, the one that seemed real because it got stronger as I got drunker.  Every morning you’d ask someone to pop open your can of Pepsi; with your 3-inch nails you couldn’t manage it.  I emulated you too much (except for the nails; I could never get into even painting mine let alone the weekly maintenance) and when you got distinctly colder after I hit on your ex-husband in the hot tub on your birthday, I figured out you weren’t over him and I went too far.