I concede. It's not fair to expect words to mean what they meant prior to rewriting the rules. If their nuance never quavered nor their exactness refined, then I wouldn't be here anyway--sitting on this bed, writing a sentence that meanders toward inanity, anticipating your likeness as I drift away from the day's excitement and anxiety, acknowledging that the likeness will do for now but not indefinitely. I have the right to call you out, though, as I did and will continue to do. It's one of those things that I'm allowed, and I know you don't mind. In fact, you like it. That's one of those things that couldn't be different.