If you’ve always wondered what people did with those little fruit stickers on apples, pears, oranges, and what not; wonder no more.
May I present: The Dokken Household Solution To Not Getting Rid Of Fruit Stickers.
I believe the one in the back has been there since April.
Ahab had his Moby.
And I, I had my Phantom Sh*tting Raccoon.
But everything changed in one second of my life last night.
In 0.5 seconds of my life, I opened the front door, heard Jay whisper, “Dot, look over there,” saw two pairs of beady eyes stare back from less than 6 feet away, yelped, froze, and hid behind Jay.
So it was not phantom, it was not (currently) shitting, and it was not (just one) raccoon.
There were two of them. Staring at me.
In the next 0.5 seconds of my life, I speedwalked-shuffled-waddled to Jay’s truck, all the while using him as a shield and practically shout-whispering, “Do raccoons attack people? Do raccoons attack people? Oh those beady eyes!”
I made it to the safety of his truck, climbed aboard faster than you could say “Boo! Ye Olde Chunkster!” and whipped out my iPhone to capture the moment.
I need the raccoons off my property.
And my iPhone needs a zoom lens and flash.
Chunk-a-roo.
Chunkster.
Chunk-a-rama.
Chunk Monster.
How did I go from Barely There to This Chunkadory Hunk Of Mass?
And I have two more months to go! Gasp!
Jay and I are watching the belly button intently for the inevitable “Pop! Turkey’s done!”
For those I’ve caused to hurl your breakfast across the room at the unsightly sight of Chunk-a-belly Nakedness, I do apologize.
Not really.
Taken with my iPhone on our street.
Jay thinks I turned on some black-and-white function, but what you see is what you get.
Not bad for a camera phone.
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