As a certified speech/language pathologist for the past 12 years, you’d think an inherent love of bubbles would be etched on my DNA. They’re a reward and therapy tool in one, that all kids love and all therapists can afford…. Well, I officially call bull sh*& on that--and publicly embrace a white-hot hatred for bubbles that has grown exponentially since birthing bubble enthusiasts of my own. I f-ing hate bubbles—and here’s why:
The mess. I know, I know. Bubbles are a sensory celebration and who am I to stand in the way integrative development. But the grossness experienced in the process is equivalent to blasting your kids with ectoplasmic slime or dipping them in a tepid pool of KY. And if that doesn’t bring bile to the back of your throat, there’s the sheath of unnatural stickiness that follows when it dries on the skin. Simply delicious. Let’s play again.
The seal. Like everything from pills to peanut butter, bubble bottles are sealed for your safety with a pernicious layer of plastic and foil. If your kid succeeds in opening it, prep yourself for a sudden burst of bubble liquid, followed by your child’s disappointed wailing, having showered a 3-foot radius with the entire contents of the bottle. If YOU try to open it, make sure to fasten your f-bomb filter to the strongest setting—because those little devils are a b*&ch to get off.
The wands. If they’re giant and fun, they become weapons immediately. If they’re fitted with the revolutionary addition of battery-operated fans, enjoy the hell out of them before bubble goo eventually jams their gears and renders them useless. If they’re small, get ready for a good “GOD DAMMIT” of a time fishing that thing out of bottle repeatedly. And if that doesn’t drive you to drown your sorrows, then brace yourself for the frustrating possibility that all you’ll ever be able to do with this particular wand is blow uninflated liquid-bubble right through it, like ropey strands of bulldog saliva. Because sometimes those wands? Just, frankly, aren’t good at blowing f-ing bubbles.
The “affordability”. It’s precisely what makes bubbles vehemently suck most of the time. I’m sure bubbles are cheap to make—just squirt some solution in a novelty bottle and you’re in business. I’m sure there’s some mild pressure to ensure the liquid itself won’t scald kids’ skin off—but otherwise, I’m guessing quality control is probably not a huge part of the budget. Surely some concerned consumer has poured over pages of Amazon reviews and found the liquid gold of all bubble solution that actually blows good bubbles. But if so, how much is it? Because I’m not about to sell a kidney for something that will be dripping through the floorboards of my deck in t-minus five minutes and counting from the second I break that god-forsaken seal. And even if you find the Messiah of all bubble liquid, my kids won’t give two sh*&s about it unless the bottle boasts the right color and/or characters on the label.
The spillability. If they don’t spill it, I will. Guaranteed. In the whole history of bubble-blowing with my kids, every episode tragically ends with a cascade of spilt bubbles. What about those spill-safe containers, you ask? Those are great—but not nearly as alluring in the store as the giant jug with Blaze and the Monster Machines plastered all over it. And why not buy the bulk bubble barrel so spills don’t matter? Well, we’ve certainly tried rolling in giant kegs of bubble goo intended to last the whole summer. But the quality was shit, like trying to blow bubbles with a vat of Sunny Delight. Still sticky and viscous, but totally f-ing worthless for the purposes of forming bubbles.
So Bubbles: you can go to hell. All kinds, colors and character variations. My kids may be blind to the hatefulness of your disagreeable nature because of how gloriously translucent and buoyant you can be when you’re willing to cooperate. But I’m wise to your ways and I hate you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed to the store to buy more…because my son just spilled you all over the damn deck.
The mess. I know, I know. Bubbles are a sensory celebration and who am I to stand in the way integrative development. But the grossness experienced in the process is equivalent to blasting your kids with ectoplasmic slime or dipping them in a tepid pool of KY. And if that doesn’t bring bile to the back of your throat, there’s the sheath of unnatural stickiness that follows when it dries on the skin. Simply delicious. Let’s play again.
The seal. Like everything from pills to peanut butter, bubble bottles are sealed for your safety with a pernicious layer of plastic and foil. If your kid succeeds in opening it, prep yourself for a sudden burst of bubble liquid, followed by your child’s disappointed wailing, having showered a 3-foot radius with the entire contents of the bottle. If YOU try to open it, make sure to fasten your f-bomb filter to the strongest setting—because those little devils are a b*&ch to get off.
The wands. If they’re giant and fun, they become weapons immediately. If they’re fitted with the revolutionary addition of battery-operated fans, enjoy the hell out of them before bubble goo eventually jams their gears and renders them useless. If they’re small, get ready for a good “GOD DAMMIT” of a time fishing that thing out of bottle repeatedly. And if that doesn’t drive you to drown your sorrows, then brace yourself for the frustrating possibility that all you’ll ever be able to do with this particular wand is blow uninflated liquid-bubble right through it, like ropey strands of bulldog saliva. Because sometimes those wands? Just, frankly, aren’t good at blowing f-ing bubbles.
The “affordability”. It’s precisely what makes bubbles vehemently suck most of the time. I’m sure bubbles are cheap to make—just squirt some solution in a novelty bottle and you’re in business. I’m sure there’s some mild pressure to ensure the liquid itself won’t scald kids’ skin off—but otherwise, I’m guessing quality control is probably not a huge part of the budget. Surely some concerned consumer has poured over pages of Amazon reviews and found the liquid gold of all bubble solution that actually blows good bubbles. But if so, how much is it? Because I’m not about to sell a kidney for something that will be dripping through the floorboards of my deck in t-minus five minutes and counting from the second I break that god-forsaken seal. And even if you find the Messiah of all bubble liquid, my kids won’t give two sh*&s about it unless the bottle boasts the right color and/or characters on the label.
The spillability. If they don’t spill it, I will. Guaranteed. In the whole history of bubble-blowing with my kids, every episode tragically ends with a cascade of spilt bubbles. What about those spill-safe containers, you ask? Those are great—but not nearly as alluring in the store as the giant jug with Blaze and the Monster Machines plastered all over it. And why not buy the bulk bubble barrel so spills don’t matter? Well, we’ve certainly tried rolling in giant kegs of bubble goo intended to last the whole summer. But the quality was shit, like trying to blow bubbles with a vat of Sunny Delight. Still sticky and viscous, but totally f-ing worthless for the purposes of forming bubbles.
So Bubbles: you can go to hell. All kinds, colors and character variations. My kids may be blind to the hatefulness of your disagreeable nature because of how gloriously translucent and buoyant you can be when you’re willing to cooperate. But I’m wise to your ways and I hate you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed to the store to buy more…because my son just spilled you all over the damn deck.
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