|Bub Froman, the sausage king of Chicago|
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
So either Bub has begun making imaginary friends or we have a friendly ghost that only speaks to him. Yeah, just like that horror movie. I guess I'm marginally partial to the former.
Oh, Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. At first, we thought he was saying ‘Bubbe!’ Makes sense, he has a Bubbe. He sees quite a bit of her. He was quick to clear that one up at one family dinner.
“Bubbe? Are you saying Bubbe?”
“Um, nope.” Long pause, then he looks out to the sun porch and yells: “BOBBY!”
“Bobby? Who is Bobby, Bub?”
Coy little smile. Ohhhh, he is just looking at his reflection in the glass door. Got it.
“Is Bobby about yay tall, sitting in a high chair, with blueberry stains on his chin?”
“Okay, what does he look like, then?”
He casually shovels some yogurt onto his pasta wheels. Says doodley-squat. Like I was The Man, trying to get him to squeal on his low-life buddy. Denying him his phone call, threatening the rubber hose. Okay, fine, I could play detective.
“So he’s on the sun porch, huh?”
“But you just looked right out there and yelled to him.”
Coy little smile again. Like I was boring him with my amateur theories. Go ahead and look, PIG. Okay, fine, I try a new tack. I fling open the door to the sun porch. No reaction.
“Oh, THERE he is! Hi Bobby, how’s it going? Aren’t you cold out here, little buddy? You want to—“
“BOBBY! BOBBY!” Bub starts yelling down the hallway, opposite direction.
“Alright, YOU KNOW WHAT? FUCK BOBBY, BUB! FUCK HIM AND THE DONKEY HE RODE IN ON! FUCKING BOBBY CAN TAKE A FLYING FUCK AT THE MOOOOOOOOOON!”
Okay, I didn’t say that. I said ‘horse.’ Who fucks donkeys anymore, seriously?
No no, I just stopped talking. Took the high road. Then I thought, for just a moment, the sensitive little Bubster could sense my despondence; he looked concerned.
“Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?”
“Um…where’s Bobby?” Not concerned, not sensitive. Big, shit-eating grin. Totally messing with me. “Where’s Bobby, Daddy? Daddy, where’s Bobby?”
And so on. Anyway, this is what we know about Bobby so far:
1. He is invisible, at least to the untrained eye.
2. He possesses formidable powers of teleportation.
3. ‘He’ could be a ‘she.’ Bub gets confused with gender pronouns. I don’t know where she gets that from.
4. He hides. Which is kind of redundant if you’re already invisible, stupid-head.
If encountered, best to terminate with extreme prejudice. And tell him it was from Daddy. If I don’t find him first.