Meet my new buddy.
His name is Bob.
(No, that does not stand for “Battery Operated Boyfriend.”)
Bob lives in the garage and stares at the closed door all day.
Bob also lets me beat the crap out of him, and he never complains.
Bob came into my life after a couple of cardio kickboxing classes, where I realized I missed punching and kicking the crap out of people.
Since none of the neighbors will hold still long enough (and the little ones can just plain outrun me)…(well, so can most of the adults), and the Spouse Thingy has been my practice dummy (heh, yeah, I said it) for longer than anyone deserves, it was time to get something else to pummel.
I like Bob.
A man that doesn’t talk.
Ooh yeah.
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