A special request: Please don’t open a new tab to Google images whilst reading this post. It will make the whole experience more better for us all (mostly me).
It took nearly three years of marriage to me before Husband realized we should probably invest in some sort of punching bag, so he wouldn’t continue to be victimized. Mind you, my punches are a whole lot of nothing, filled with these teeny, tiny fingers that are apt to breakage if you look at them wrong and about as much centripetal force as a sloth. But, several punches to the arm and midsection can, over time, become rather irritating (since they’re clearly not going to be painful, although honestly I wonder if he’s just acting all tough because I am really good at the local 24 Hour Fitness kickboxing class, so.)
So, on Black Friday, we bought something upon which I can get out all my aggression. Incidentally, the deal we got wasn’t Black Friday related at all, although we were standing inside Sports Authority around 1:00 am, so for all intents and purposes, we got ourselves a sweet Black Friday deal on Bob.
Let me tell you something about Bob. Bob isn’t just some shapeless bag. Bob is, like, a person. Without arms and legs or an ability to move. So I’m not entirely sure why people think this is an actual, effective way to train for anything unless they live in a community where armless, legless criminals abound, and then — you are going to be good to go. Anyhow, we waited, anxiously, for Bob (and several other online orders) to arrive at our doorstep, checking the FedEx website pretty regularly.
But Thursday nights are my voice lesson nights, which meant I would probably miss out on Bob’s arrival. I wouldn’t be there, standing next to Husband, jumping up and down from sheer excitement. Also, it mostly meant he would have to put some pants on so he didn’t traumatize the delivery guy.
Imagine how pleased I was when I walked through the front door and saw this, just standing there:
Heart attack. A heart attack happened.