B.O.B.

I figured Bob was her boyfriend. Some guy my new friend needed to stash away as her mom came to visit for the upcoming graduation celebration. But as she described putting him in a way-up-high, too high for short mom, cowboy boot in the closet, my face must have given me away. You don't know who Bob is, do you, Lisa? I guess not, I answered. B.O.B. - the battery operated boyfriend. Oohh, that Bob. Small enough to stash in a boot, big enough to cause problems for the relatives. The funny part was, I had just received a frantic email from another friend, also concerning a B.O.B. stashing. Visiting her daughter in Europe, a newly ordered B.O.B. didn't arrive before she left and now was worried the kids at home would get to it first. Tasked with intercepting said package from UPS guy, another Diva and I circled the house time and time again for two days, but with no luck. B.O.B. made it into the house, hopefully still wrapped and taped up tight on the other side of the door, waiting for mom to stash somewhere when she gets home.