I made a cake for church today and I noticed for the very first time that I have voices in my head. Mr. Brown is there sometimes, sometimes it's just me or my grandma, and sometimes it's my parents.
When I cook, it's my mom. Growing up, whenever I'd get frustrated with myself for breaking an egg yolk or baking the cookies too long, she'd always tell me to keep trying, "you'll get it when you have more experience."
When I drive, I always hear my dad. On the way to Uncle John's house there is a meeting of two highways where you drive in a complete circle. The speed limit is 20, I think. Every time we go, no matter who is driving, at this curve he'll say "slow right down now, slow right down."
Here in Tennessee, there is a similar curve and without fail, either out loud or in my head, I'll say "slow right down now, slow right down." It's even rubbing off on Steve.
By the way, my mom was right about the experience thing. I can usually make food turn out the way I want it, but I learned that taste is much more important than presentation. On the way to church, this cake had an untimely run in with it's carrier. It was a mess, but instead of following my first impulse to fling it against the wall or just throw the whole thing in the trash, I ate it. It tasted excellent.