Don’t ask me where she got them from. One day they just appeared in our home. Molly named them all “Bob.” (Do you suppose she got the idea from George Foreman?) And there’s about five of them….monkeys. Stuffed monkeys. And they’re all alike.
“I’m going to bring them to school,” she announced the other evening. “You’re not supposed to bring stuff like this to school,” she added.
But my, she is a cheeky lass. She takes after her mom.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
All was quiet for several hours when I peeked in on her. She was sitting on her bedroom floor amid a blizzard of material scraps, thread and lengths of ribbon.
She twisted her back to me so I couldn’t see her project and shooed me away. (“DON’T LOOK!”)
I was pecking away at the computer when she appeared in the doorway.
“It’s a Bob Bag,” she announced. She was holding her creation by two pink ribbons that served as handles. It was a patchwork affair, possessing a certain charm in its shoddiness.
“What exactly is a Bob Bag?” I asked. We moms can be such ignoramuses.
“Tomorrow I’m bringing all the Bobs to school in it.”
She tossed the pink ribbon straps over her shoulder; one of the Bobs was peeking out the top.
The next day she reported the monkey smuggling operation went well. It may even start a new trend, she said.
Sounds like fun to me. More fun than a barrel of…er, more fun than a bag of Bobs.
Shortly after this the phone rang. It was Daniel’s 18-wheeler truck driver, telephone collector buddy who’s rigged a rotary dial phone into his Blue Tooth. He’s going to be in Nashville; would we like to meet? Welcome to my Seinfeld-ish world. You can’t make this stuff up.
So Jay and Daniel met him. I thought about sending the Bob Bag and its occupants; the quirkiness just seemed to fit meeting a guy with a rotary dial phone in his cab.
For Molly, it could come in handy….knowing a long haul truck driver, that is. Especially if her monkey smuggling business grows.