Bob is my 80 year old grandfather, but I call him Bob instead of grandfather. Always have. I moved from my parent's house in January 2010 to Bob's house. Bob is eccentric, even as far as old men go. I always appreciated it, but I was never quite exposed to it this much. Now, I want everyone to know about my experiences. You may laugh, but I shake my head. All of these short stories are true. They are not fabricated or exaggerated. They are Bob at his finest. If 'finest' is the right word
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Shrimp Bowl
About 10 years ago, Bob and my grandmother were over for a super bowl
party at our house. Bob proceeded to eat all of the shrimp he brought
caked with globs of cocktail sauce. Predictably, this culminated in a
reflux disaster. "I think you got some on the furniture!" "No, didn't!"
Bob insisted as he ascended to go to the bathroom. An ever-extending,
orange trail of saliva extending from his khakied butt to our brand-new
couch would confirm otherwise.
