Bubbles: The Definition of Dread

We begin with me blowing the bubbles and the natives happily giggling and prancing to pop them. But then she sees me doing it over and over and figures it must be easy.

So then she, that toddler, asks to try, and I hand her the wand, and she dips it in the container. My hand is already soaked because the stuff splashes when I do it, but now my shoes are soaked because she drips it over and over as she tries, unsuccesfully most of the time.

But then, after just enough tantalizing successes, she notices that I am still holding the bubbles container.

I’ve kind of lost where this next mental jump happens because, by this point, my back aches and my throat hurts and my lips hurt from pursing them to blow so much. My only guess is that the toddler figures one must hold both the wand AND the container in order to be more successful at blowing bubbles.

So all the rest of the bubbles end up in my lap. Or on my shirtfront. Or in a huge, wasted, too-expensive puddle on the ground.

And funny enough, I feel luckiest if there’s a puddle. Even when the toddler realizes that she can’t blow bubbles anymore.


About The Original Kate

Along with artistic tendencies, Kate enjoys unusual people and is constantly striving for some sort of nonconformity. Kate offers a perspective that is thoughtful but well-written and full of images within the words. Other tidbits that might intrigue: she has very long auburn hair, and, you guessed it, her favorite color is orange.

Posted on May 12, 2017, in From Moss-Lined Oregon, Lottie Lore. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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