None. After he walked out on me and the kids I made a big point of continuing to go absolutely everywhere that I liked because fuck him, I own all these places and HE can go find somewhere new if it bothers him. 

Two words: Karla Homolka. Glad these two fiends got caught before they escalated to nastier crimes.

The chart was very thoughtful of you. I slept underneath all of my animals in hopes that if a serial killer broke into my house they wouldn’t see me.

This was freedom, baby. (At least until the street lights came on and/or my father whistled for us).

My stuffed animals. I hated dolls except for the one whose hair grew when you pressed her belly button. Embarrassing confession: I used sleep with a different stuffed animal each night and had a chart with a schedule so none of them would have hurt feelings.

I had one of these bad boys;

YES. I have pecan tarts. Close enough?

Those towels are perfectly hung.

Tampons and pads. They wouldn’t even have to be out of the wrappers, the way some men react to them. It’s like those videos of people scaring their unsuspecting cats with cucumbers.

I carry pepper spray that has ink in it that is visible under a UV light for up to 72 hours, even if the person tries to wash the shit off. I also carry this tool that can easily shatter a femur or take out an eye with enough pressure. I haven’t had to use them and hopefully never will, but it’s nice to have a little…

“How much cole slaw do you want? A kilometer? A hectare? Hurry up, my break starts in two liters.” - Dave Barry

In case you thought that everyone knows how to Chipotle, have a picture of President Obama not knowing how Chipotle works.

To be fair, the complaint is perfectly valid. I’d want a fucking straw too, though I wouldn’t drive down there and scare the employees to get one.

“I as a first generation Fat-Lesbian”

That might be my favorite BCO story ever.

My sides reached orbit at “first generation Fat-Lesbian”. I only hope that one day, I too will be able to find someone who will stare down assholes while I dance to songs from the 70s.

The writing on that one is the BEST. I lost it at fleeing the great Fucks Famine of 2015.

I always wanted to slip up to the server and mutter “Look, I get the legal seafood’s good enough for the chumps. But come on, pally, whachoo got in the back? Sea serpent? Mermaid? I got the cash.”