S.O.B. My father, who was 14 years old than my mother, had been working on his will. At a family dinner he told us that he had provided well for Mother, but the family home would go to us five children if she remarried. "I don't want another S.O.B. toasting his shins around my fireplace," he explained. With a sly grin, Mother cracked, "What makes you think I'd marry another S.O.B?"