So there’s this extremely creeptacular, pervy weinermobile who lives in my parents’ neighborhood. He’s been lurking around the house since I left home, since I cannot be there to enforce the ‘No Weinermobiles” rule. I have tried being dismissive, being condescending, and being a raging she-demon…none have worked. And before you suggest I try being kind, I should tell you that another member of my family has tried that approach, and I think that’s why he’s lingering around, instead of returning to the warmth and darkness of his mother’s basement, where he lives, despite being in his forties.

Since I’m not sure he understands spoken English, and he certainly doesn’t understand social cues, I’m going to try a language that he clearly understands—Cookies. My hope is that he is possessed with the power of literacy and doesn’t just stare blankly at the tray until he recognizes the symbols that mean his name. “D…D….D…DAN! Hey that’s me!! MY name is Dan, too! My cookies. My chickies. My bunnies. Mineminemine.”

As a result of spending my afternoon baking public service messages, poor Chris had to eat spaghetti with slightly-altered marinara FROM A JAR. He’s sucking his thumb and rocking back and forth now, muttering about the dawn of the culinary apocalypse.

6 thoughts on “Arrrgggghhhhhhh”

  1. One of my coworkers had a totally creepy-ass stalker a while back. She had to call the cops.

    Also, just so you know, I can't get enough of the Safeway Garlic spaghetti sauce. I'd go look up what it's actually called, but I've got a busted leg.

    I've been calling myself "Gimpsalong Cassidy" all afternoon.

  2. Has he done new creepy things, or is he still just lurking in the garage? Has he started to try to lurk somewhere nearer the interior? Can't he be locked in the basement?

    I love that your rage is expressed so sweetly. (Har.) Fine looking gloss on that frosting, also.

    My favorite restaurant is looking for a pastry chef. Do you really NEED to live with that (admittedly awesome and brilliant) husband guy?

  3. He upset my momma, and that's enough reason for me to call it as it lies. And I'm sure he's still lurking, because he's a lurky lurker, and that's what they do. *shudder* Gah, he's so grotesquely awful.

    I'd LOVE to come back and be a pastry chef at your favorite restaurant. I should be in town anyway, since my mom is apparently a magnet for worthless sleazeballs. (not that she dates them, they just seem to show up at the house and then lurk near it ad infinitum).

    Sadly, I'm too fond of Chris to leave, so I have to send frosted hate mail.

  4. I love the frosted hate mail. And I love that you gave him soft furry creatures instead of things like turd looking cookies or toads or skunks. Maybe that is the immature child in me that would do that, but hey, whatever.

  5. Man, I miss having stalkers. At my old apartment the front door was in the living room. Every now and then I'd be sitting on the couch watching tv (always very late at night since I was working bars at that time) and hear a creeeeeeeak…..look up and there are EYES in my MAIL SLOT. God, I get the heebies every time I think of that, and sadly I still have no idea who he was. If he had sexier eyes I might have invited him in, but alas – still a stranger in my midst.

    Also? Those are the prettiest dang Easter (??) cookies that I ever done see. And you have much nicer handwriting than I do. I would be chuffed to get a home baked treat like that, particularly as I'd spend a half hour trying to "re-arrange the letters correctly, from the Scrabble cookies!"

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