For sale: One laughing ball

No, that’s not right. But I don’t know the actual name of the toy. Was it a “Laughing Bob”? The label is long worn off.

For sale: One Giggling Bob ball. Good for ages 1-4.

That’ll do. Sure, I feel bad selling it off to someone else. But I don’t know how else to get rid of it.

When I first bought it for the kids – I’m sure it worked fine in the store – I got it home and I couldn’t get it to work. According to the instructions, all you had to do was bang it and it was supposed to giggle. The kids loved the crazy high pitched laugh. I figured it would drive me nuts, but what the hell. Anything for the kids, right?

I tried changing the batteries. Nothing. Banged the hell out of it… no laughing (or giggling) Bob.

The first time I heard it go off, about a week later, it was 3:14 am. I got up to see if the kids had wandered out of bed, but they were fast asleep. And there was this stupid ball, laying in the middle of the living room floor. I just shook my head and went back to bed.

Next morning I kicked it. It didn’t make a sound. Maybe I dreamed it, I thought. Ha!

About a month after that, we were packing to move. One of the kids threw the ball into a box. I said we should just toss it in the garbage, but the kids liked it. They’d been using it to play catch, even though it wouldn’t make a sound. I said fine.

3:14 the next morning… Yeah. Giggling Bob was at it again. This time I got up and threw it in a garbage bag.

Garbage day was four days later.

Have you ever taken the trash to the curb and had it laugh at you? I’d have tossed it with no problem, except the kids (who I was taking to the bus stop at the time) caught me red-handed. Since the toy was in a trash bag with a pile of carpeting, and not with anything disgusting, back Giggling Bob went into the house.

Well, moving day came and went. Giggling Bob made it into a random box that, four years later remains unpacked. And I swear to God, if I am woken up at 3:14 again…

One Giggling Bob ball. Good for ages 1-4. Free to a good home.

That’s better.

Note: This story is semi-fictional, only in that I haven’t tried to sell the possessed ball yet. Yet.