To be clear, I absolutely deserve an end that includes holiday decorations. Whether I die while refluffing Frank the Giant Spider, get electrocuted by Christmas lights, or whatever, that seems EXTREMELY fitting that I leave this world doing a thing I love.
But not yet, Bob.
For the record, this is Bob.
Bob has been with us for two years now and he is every bit as magnificent as you think he is. I mean, just look at him! All 20 feet of him! He looks particularly swell at night with a backdrop of far too many Christmas trees in every window of our house. I would post a photo of that whole scene, if only one existed. It seems SOME people in this house are really good at closing blinds and really bad at opening them.
ANYWAY.
Bob is fantastic, but he's a wee bit high maintenance. While most inflatables are a "plug it in and leave it" situation, Bob has to be watched because Bob very badly wants to be destroyed by some tree branches. He also has a tendency to let the wind knock him off his feet.
Once he's off of his feet, trouble is just around the corner. A good gust of wind will send him to Kansas. I don't trust Dorothy to return him, so whenever the wind picks up over 20 mph or so, I meander my way out to the yard and unplug the giant oaf. Except, unplugging him is a bit of a production. It takes him a good 15 minutes to deflate, and even that is with a bit of assistance. I have to unzip his back and sort of force the air out of him and whatever. It's fine. He's worth the little bit of effort.
Except last night. Bob definitely earned his way onto the Naughty List last night.
It was around midnight when I glanced out the window and realized Bob was, well, bobbing around. He was flapping in the wind like one of those flappy-armed inflatables they have at car dealerships. Clearly that was unacceptable, so I threw a coat on over my pajamas, shoved my feet into a pair of Alexis' shoes (even though they are 2 sizes too small), and trudged over to Bob's cord. I gave it a good tug then trudged further to unzip Bob's back and help him settle down.
Bob thanked me by falling on his back. As in, he fell on top of me. He totally and completely smothered me and I sort of wish it hadn't been midnight because a neighbor or two definitely would have enjoyed the show as I tried to Phoebe Buffay my way out from underneath 20 feet of inflatable joy.
I found my way out from under that mess and promptly grabbed hold of Bob's back so I could shove some air out of him. I pushed and I tugged and I pushed some more. And then, suddenly, the wind picked up. A little tornado formed at my feet and somehow the wind managed to blow directly into Bob. He perked RIGHT up, twisted around, and started to fly away.
Bob is secured to the ground with a series of ropes, by the way. There's four of them firmly staked to the ground and then tightly knotted around Bob's waist. Wanna guess what happened when Bob perked up and twisted around? OH, BUT IT DID.
Bob tried to strangle me.
Legit, a rope wound all the way around my neck and when Bob started to fly away, the grip tightened. I thought three things in that moment:
1. I deserve this.
2. There is literally nobody awake to save me.
3. I know an amazing quantity of swear words.
Needless to say, I did manage to somehow get myself out of that situation. I can't really tell you how because, you know, oxygen deprivation and all that. Regardless, Bob is (literally) grounded for a few days so he can think about what he has done. Also, I won't be saving Bob from the wind without dragging someone outside to babysit me.
Try a little kindness, Bob. The world is better that way.