I Hate Bubbles!

It has come to my attention that there are very few things I hate more than bubbles.

And I don't mean the type of bubbles Arial creates in Little Mermaid, when she is way below the surface and somehow, despite the lack of air, she still manages to wave her hands and create a string of bubbles. No, not those bubbles.   I hate the stupid "supposed to be a real good time" type of bubbles that kids absolutely lose their shit over. Literally lose their shit over! Poop themselves in glee and don't care. Here's a newsflash-- bubbles are not joyous. You might think they are. You might see the grin on your kid's face, which quickly turns into a full blown smile, and think this cheap little bottle of bubbles was such a great buy. You might even thank your lucky stars that suddenly your kid has undivided attention, hungry gaze focused solely on that bright orange bottle of bubbles. You might chuckle to yourself and think--They love bubbles. I am the best parent in the world right now! But that gaze that you thought was happy? You know, that focused stare? Those chubby fingers reaching for that bottle of amusement paradise? Yeah, that is just the recognition of Satan's magic. That is the focused stare of a hungry predator when he spots a weak little water buffalo baby.  As you unscrew that cap, patting yourself on the back for your mastery of parenting, their beady little eyes are honing in. Their grubby little fingers are twitching. Their happy grin slowly morphs into a manic smile.  You first realize things are going wrong as you pierce that impossible-to-get-off foil covering. The Ft. Knox for freaking bubbles. Why are bubbles so hard to break in to? It's because bubble makers are laughing at parents by increasing the kids' anticipation.  The sparkle in your kid's eyes turns into an evil glint. That manic smile turns into a grimace of need. Those fingers turn into raptor claws. The bubble wand emerges...  Suddenly you have a wild beast on your hands. Your kid wants bubbles, but not just blown by you. No. They want to hold the bottle. They want to dip the wick, dribbling half the contents down their hands and onto the floor. "Oh, careful, don't spill it!" you say.  They hear, "You can't do what you want with the most excellent-est thing in the whole world!" Survival takes over--they must now do whatever is necessary to secure the slippery bottle of delight! With grim determination and an onslaught of crying, your kid wrestles for full control of the bubbles. Evil grin is gone--now there is no hint of a smile whatsoever.    You give in, even though slopping suds are sloshing over the side of the bottle. Good for you--you have patience. Let the kid have some fun--let him/her insert their independence. Except, they don't have the motor skills yet to actually produce the damn bubbles. That was not a good solution.

Spoiler alert: There is no good solution with bubbles!!! They put their mouth right on the wand. Right up on it. They are basically eating the damn suds. You try to make them back up, and they wrestle for control again, frown dipping their eyebrows as they struggle to make those god damned bubbles work. You try to show them, you try to hold the wand away as they blow, you try to keep from losing your temper because they won't do what you freaking need them to do!

It's no use--they don't know how to do it. You need to do it. You know this. If they would just let you blow the damn bubbles, they could freaking play with them and be happy for a damn moment! By this point, the bottle is half empty, the ground is wet and slippery, your kid's face and hands are grossly sticky, your kid is starting to freak out, and you want to punch your husband in the mouth for buying bubbles--even though it was you who bought them... As you struggle for control of your temper, your kid starts to jolt and twitch--the beginning stages of a catastrophic tantrum.  
Yay! We're having so much fun!  *you wish*              
You manage to snatch the bottle away from the baby, and blow a couple bubbles. For that brief moment...for that one second...as the bubble forms...and drifts into the air...a look of wonder and delight crosses your kid's face. It is precious, and happiness is once again restored. It only lasts that one moment, though, because in the next moment, your kid is back at you, wanting to do that. Wanting to create their own little sphere of delight! They attack you, scowl firmly in place, with their desperate need to control and create bubbles. The cycle repeats itself. Your kid spends more time pissed off than happy. No winning. When the rest of the bottle is thankfully spilled all down your kid's front, you don't even care that she doesn't have a change of clothes. You're just happy that this horrible episode of 'fun' came to an end, despite the fact that your kid is screaming bloody murder that the bubbles are all gone.

And then there are parties.

Have you ever been to a party where some god damned idiot buys a couple bottles of bubbles for a horde a kids? No problem, this yuck-up says, they can take turns.

No. They will not want to take turns. They will want to hold that nasty bottle, bubbles oozing down the sides, and blow the bubbles themselves. They want control. They want to play God with bubbles!!

So parents get involved, calming the hysterical crying because the bottle needs to be taken from one kid and given to another. "We're sharing, little Sophie. We need to share." She doesn't like sharing on a normal day--sharing bubbles is sacrilege!! Plus, half the kids can't do it right, so the other half tries to rip the bottle away and show them how.

More screaming.

Yay, bubbles were such a good idea!

Next time, that same yuck-up, convinced he learned from his mistake, buys each kid at the party a bottle of bubbles. Now there is no need to share. Everyone has their own. Problem solved.

Wrong again, bubble-buying-jackass.
 One kid drops theirs, or spill theirs, or hates theirs because the wand won't blow bubbles--so they steal their neighbor's. That neighbor freaks out and tries to steal it back. Mayhem ensues.  The mobs in Rome were nothing compared to the freaking out of a kids party when a bubble war is started. Killing, screaming, biting, kicking--all of the above.

Well, my kid is older, you say--I don't have this problem.

Or maybe you say-- I'll get this bubble gun so all my little angel has to do is pull the trigger. Not any better. The older kid, even though perfectly fine with the necessary motor skills, will want to play with them at random, inopportune times. Bubbles might drift past your face while watching TV, the dripping suds now soaking into your carpet. If you are all outside, your kid will want you to blow some so they can chase, or blow them for you to chase--instead of a means to distract your kid, you are an active participant whether you like it or not.

   Bubble gun? Still no. You'll have to pierce that damn foil, you'll set up the gun, and then you'll have a toddler trying to shoot you in the face. Or mad that it isn't working properly (because they are doing it wrong). Or want to switch out bottles every couple minutes. They will also want to play with this thing at inopportune times, and then scream when they can't.

   No. Bubbles are terrible. I absolutely hate them. The only enjoyment with bubbles is if they are randomly floating by from a machine way up high that no one is actually touching in which to operate.