I was just remembering back to when I was 10 or 12, and bubble-blowing was an important indicator of social status. Someone who could blow a bubble that required a haircut was the elite of the elite (I never managed this), and my life was devoted to bubble blowing. I can remember spending endless hours debating the merits of various brands of choice: Bubble-Yum (King of Flavor), Hubba-Bubba (Superior Bubbles), Bubblicious (You chew that? What are you, stupid?), Double-Bubble (Tried and True). Bubble blowing is an event that requires one’s entire concentration. One must block out distractions mentally even as the bubble blocks off sight of the world. Sometimes, after some strenuous bubble blowing, you need a drink; you take a slug of that ice-cold water, and suddenly that bit of gum that was stretching out so nicely before shatters likes Mom’s best china when you dropped it on the floor. I remember when I lost my job, just after taking on the responsibility of a mortgage and new car payment, with a wife, a kid, and another on the way. It reminded me of when that all important, prize winning chew, shattered on impact after the plunge into ice water. Is there a poem in here somewhere? It seems so to me. Can I write it? I don’t know; I may have swallowed my gum.

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