Post 999 Update: Mystery Photo AND An Open Letter to the Other Room Mom
Have you seen me?

I was last seen in 1974. Give or take. I may have aged a bit. Or a lot.

Now, the letter:

Dear Lazy Ass Room Mom who Never Shows Up to Help Out Ever:

May I ask you a question? Why the fuck did you sign up to be room mom when you had no intention of helping out? Are you putting it on your college transcript? Do you get a dollar from your husband every time he sees your name in print? Is it your first step in your goal of world domination?

Because you live around the corner from me, here are some things I know about you: you don't have other children at home. This first grader is your youngest child, so you're free and clear now for at least a few hours a day. And I know you lied to A's mom when you told her you have a night job which causes you to sleep until 2 p.m. each day.

I live right next to the park, remember? I see you in your shiny workout gear headed for the walking trail nearly every day. I've even chatted with you on occasion. Unless you sleepwalk? Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions.

So let me make this clear: Room Mom C and I are tired of picking up the slack for you. You have yet to chaperone a field trip, plan a party or even make rice krispie treats. You didn't contribute so much as an idea or even help make a phone call for the Halloween party, and you've made it clear you're unwilling to help with the winter holiday (::cough:: Christmas ::cough cough::) party. You refused to help with today's Thanksgiving feast. I'm tired of your shit.

Next time you're out "sleepwalking," beware. I'm going to construct a trip wire across the sidewalk in front of my house. As you sit holding your bony knee in both hands, wailing, "Why? Why?" like Nancy Kerrigan, I'm going to rush out my door and confront you. You're going to the Christmas party planning meeting. You're going to bring brownies or cheese and crackers or those little wreaths made of cornflakes, melted marshmallows and green food coloring to school on the day of the party. Your scrawny ass is showing up in one of your irridescent jogging suits (pick red or green, to be festive) to help out with the party activities. Why will you do this? Because I am not a woman to be messed with.

I'm crazy. You never know what I'll do next.

That's what I'll tell you right before I give you a bandaid and an antibacterial wipe for your knee. I'm not a monster, you know.
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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