My youngest man-child is a legal adult, yet not old enough to fully appreciate how awesome I am so i would like a favor in case I get hit by the proverbial bus* before he has an epiphany of how very lucky he was to have me for a mom.

*such a stupid euphemism...like I'm busy dodging busses.  I rarely even see them.

Someone form a committee to send him annoyingly frequent messages reminding him I learned to cook tofu for him.  No one else here eats it but yet here I am after finding yet another recipe that will make the cut as his picky eating is rivaled only by my own...because I support him no matter how inconvenient he decides to be and as long as I'm around I'm going to make sure he eats something besides those godawful veggie burgers that leave a weird smell in my kitchen for a good 20 minutes.

And I've never complained about that...and I didn't make pouty faces about how he was hiding his perfect face behind the scruff of facial hair that made him look like a cross between a random bearded white guy on a 70's album cover and white Jesus.

Okay he was still a ridiculously goodlooking white Jesus...but I didn't make him so pretty so he could go around impersonating Eric Clapton circa 1974. Who also bore a striking resemblance to a good looking white Jesus.

Dont hide the handsome...but did I complain?  No. His face, his choice...besides nothing makes him as happy as annoying me so if I whined about it he'd never have shaved it.  

I would never post his pic without his consent and since that will never happen here's Eric Clapton.  Who, ftr, is not my son. 

Also, he's still alive even though he STILL complains all the time about some imaginary problem where he thinks his orthodontist didn't line up his canine tooth on one side just right.  This is one of those magical imperfections no one can see but him.  

If he has nothing to bitch about he will invent something;  Im considering imposing a fine so he's got to pay me every time he wants to talk about how the orthodontist was a hack and should have spent a little less time playing golf and a little more time not ruining his life.

if I charge him $1 a complaint I can at least recoup the almost $9k those straight teeth set me back by next Tuesday.

so tldr:  if I get hit by a bus bombard my youngest with messages reminding him:

- I'm a saint for the tofu thing.

- I allowed him to make his own choices even when it meant looking like like he fell through a time portal.

- My remarkable restraint in listening to his fictional complaints is unparalleled in the mortal realm.  Also see his demands to see a dermatologist in high school for 'acne' you could only see when he pointed it out under bright lighting when the moon was full.

And I wouldn't change one thing about the adorable little pain in the ass...although it's been pointed out to me on many an occasion that I probably wouldn't find this stuff so charming if he didn't get all this stuff from me.  Ahhhh...overt and unapologetic whining and entitlement is a lost art and I've done my duty to make sure it's going to passed on to the next generation.

You're welcome.  And to his future wife...I'm sorry I never taught him how to clean.  Or cook.  Or allow himself an unexpressed thought.  Or walk up the stairs without soundimg like Bruce Banner when he's angry.