The Final Countdown

Dear Diary,

The mothers are coming! The mothers are coming! There is no stopping it. I've dug my grave. I told the BHE that his job is to keep the mothers out of the kitchen, out of the back yard, and out of any room to which the door is closed. They're kind of like dogs. They can smell fear, and their instinct is to sniff around places where you don't want them. They can also smell incompetence and drunkenness.

In other fascinating news, lately I've been putting two creamers in my coffee instead of the usual one. What do you make of it?

Love, Fluffy