Planet Bob
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “We’re lost and don’t mean to intrude on your property.”
“No problems at all!” the man exclaimed cheerfully. “We’re always glad to take in guests and newcomers. Please, come in!”
Once inside, he took off his hat and bowed rather lowly at us. It took me a while, but I suddenly realized he was touching his toes. I was about to ask what he was doing when he quickly stood and put out his hand.
“My name is Bob!” he exclaimed, again cheerfully. “Let me show you around.”
A kid ran by. Bob grabbed him and turned him towards us. To my surprise, the boy looked exactly like Bob, only miniaturized.
“This is my son, Bobbery! Or Bob for short,” Bob said proudly, before letting him off. Bobbery resumed running off to wherever he was going. He disappeared into the hall where my eyes could not follow.
Bob continued his tour and took us to what appeared to be an enormous library. He hurried us to the side wall, where there hung a portrait of him dressed as a seemingly rich and wealthy king. An engraving beneath it read “Bob.”
“You look very...” I started, searching for the right word.
“No no, not me,” Bob laughed. “This is our king!”
“King?” I asked.
“Yes! King! My father, Bob the Third! We call him ‘The Bob’ around here.”
“Bob the Third?”
“Yep! I’m Bob the Seventh. My older brother was Bob the Fourth, my younger brother Bob the Fifth, and my older sister Bob the Sixth.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. Bob didn’t seem to notice.
Bob pointed at a portrait of Bobbery and another boy. “This is my son and his best friend, Billy Bob.”
A small dog trotted by and out the room. “That’s our dog, Bobcat.”
We stopped next to a medium-sized fishtank. “That’s our goldfish…”
There was an awkward silence. “He doesn’t have a name.”
We headed toward another painting, this time, of an elderly woman.
Bob smiled conceitedly with a huge grin. “That is my wife. Her name is my name spelled backwards. Isn't that amazing?!”
“No problems at all!” the man exclaimed cheerfully. “We’re always glad to take in guests and newcomers. Please, come in!”
Once inside, he took off his hat and bowed rather lowly at us. It took me a while, but I suddenly realized he was touching his toes. I was about to ask what he was doing when he quickly stood and put out his hand.
“My name is Bob!” he exclaimed, again cheerfully. “Let me show you around.”
A kid ran by. Bob grabbed him and turned him towards us. To my surprise, the boy looked exactly like Bob, only miniaturized.
“This is my son, Bobbery! Or Bob for short,” Bob said proudly, before letting him off. Bobbery resumed running off to wherever he was going. He disappeared into the hall where my eyes could not follow.
Bob continued his tour and took us to what appeared to be an enormous library. He hurried us to the side wall, where there hung a portrait of him dressed as a seemingly rich and wealthy king. An engraving beneath it read “Bob.”
“You look very...” I started, searching for the right word.
“No no, not me,” Bob laughed. “This is our king!”
“King?” I asked.
“Yes! King! My father, Bob the Third! We call him ‘The Bob’ around here.”
“Bob the Third?”
“Yep! I’m Bob the Seventh. My older brother was Bob the Fourth, my younger brother Bob the Fifth, and my older sister Bob the Sixth.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. Bob didn’t seem to notice.
Bob pointed at a portrait of Bobbery and another boy. “This is my son and his best friend, Billy Bob.”
A small dog trotted by and out the room. “That’s our dog, Bobcat.”
We stopped next to a medium-sized fishtank. “That’s our goldfish…”
There was an awkward silence. “He doesn’t have a name.”
We headed toward another painting, this time, of an elderly woman.
Bob smiled conceitedly with a huge grin. “That is my wife. Her name is my name spelled backwards. Isn't that amazing?!”
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