Life without Anna Nicole Mrs. Robot and I cleaned up Anna Nicole's room last night. We boxed up her stuff and will mail it to her family in Texas. It's so quiet now.
She didn't have that much stuff since the room was furnished. Some boxes of books. A pile of clothes. A shoe-box full of knick-knacks.
It's odd that the paparazzi, normally very on the ball, completely missed the fact that she was living in our extra bedroom for all these years.
Life with her as our roommate was generally pleasant. She washed her dishes and never ate our food (or if she did, she was great about replacing it). If we were out of town for the weekend, she was more than happy to watch the cat.
As with anytime someone passes away, you suddenly realize that you will miss the little things that you took for granted. Her contagious laughter was always welcomed. The way she folded our towels into tight little squares in the linen closest. The little voice she used when talking to the cat in the mornings.
Sunday mornings she would make these little cinnamon roll things. They were so good and waking up to the smell of them baking was a wonderful way to start the day. We'd sit around the kitchen table drinking coffee and eating the rolls fresh out of the oven while reading the paper and discussing the news of the day. She would always try to get the Real Estate section first before Mrs. Robot.
Granted, we won't miss her entourage who sometimes came by. They were loud and boisterous and brought out the worst in her. Many times we'd have to come out and tell them to turn the TV down or to stop clanging around in the kitchen. Oh, and that little dog that they would bring. My head just hurts thinking about its yapping.
