I Believe I've Been Insulted. By a Raccoon.

This morning, we awoke to the delightful image of our garbage strewn across our front yard, courtesy of our local raccoons. It was more horrible to Dilf than to me, because let's face it: cleaning up after a raccoon is one of those half-cat duties husbands perform. (JJ, why did you leave us? I still miss you.)

Why did the raccoons choose our garbage this week, for the first time ever? Was it my delectable meatloaf? My savory spaghetti? My heavenly cookie crumbs? Which of my delicious homemade delicacies drove the creatures mad with desire, forcing them to attack my trash can with such gusto?

It wasn't any of those things. It was store-bought macaroni and "cheese" in a styrofoam container from the local grocery store, one of the side dishes that came along with the deli fried chicken Dilf purchased on Monday when I had a migraine and didn't feel up to cooking dinner.

I am deeply hurt and confused. Why, raccoons, why? Why you gotta diss the Übermilf like that?

Stupid raccoons.

In other food news, you can get a BLT cupcake at MORE Cupcakes.

That is all.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

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Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

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