An open letter to my Mamoo
For those of you just tuning in, I call my Mama's wife Mamoo.

Dear Mamoo,

It makes me shudder to even contemplate touching the things you consider food. You were dangling this floppy thing over the heater, Mamoo. It was wiggly and wobbly. I thought it was a toy for me. Then you told me it was bacon. That didn't look a thing like the yummy turkey bacon Mama fries up. That stuff smells good and it looks nice and crispy. I want to have some, but Mama won't give it to me on account of my sensitive tummy, so I just have to content myself with the smell.

I had to check out this scientific monster for myself. It doesn't even look right, Mamoo! It smells weird and it's floppy, and I touched it and all I could think of was ewww! You're good at cuddling and being good to Mama, but you just aren't right in the food department.

Maybe I could show you what is good food. I have nearly ten years of experience in knowing what is good and what isn't. Apparently I have to do a lot to educate you.

Love,

your Babaloo

Yes, that's really what she calls me. Really. It isn't nearly as saccharine as some of the things Mama calls me.