Mr. Bob Is A Certified Slob
Nothing more represents the centerpiece of my family’s kitchen than the large blue ceramic jug conveniently positioned in the center of our ample wooden table.
More often than not it was filled to the brim with my mother’s delicious sun tea, still warm from sitting on our front step. She would pour four generous portions over ice-chilled tumblers.
No one guzzled with more gusto than my father. Inevitably, his lust for more tea prompted a significant spill followed immediately by an utterance of words he did not learn in church.
Mom and I mopped up the mess while he repeatedly berated himself. Intent on devouring the feast before our neighborhood lions, tigers and bears arrived, he attacked his plate, usually cleaning it before my mom and sister had the opportunity to lift a fork.
Unfortunately, that first spill was not the last.
Dad’s shirt could not escape my dad’s rapid-fire shoveling. Long before Lacoste began placing gators on their shirts, Bill Bridge was decorating his with dollops of gravy and bits of stray strawberries.
I won’t begin to describe his chomping of buttery cobs of corn other than to label it is as “legendary.”
Perhaps you’ve heard the adage: the apple doesn’t fall from the tree. In this particular case, I am that all-too juicy fruit.
While I’m eager to claim my father‘s more admirable traits, I’m not particularly fond of this one. In the past few years I have stained an inordinate number of shirts. And, I’ve caught myself mumbling some of the same words that escaped from my father‘s mouth.
Alas, I am a certified slob. This became evident when my significant other, after watching me spill salad dressing down my otherwise unblemished shirt, reached into her purse and handed me a Tide to-go pen stain remover.
Humbling … but convenient. Fits neatly into one’s pocket.
What’s the B in Bob B. Bridge represent?
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