Hubba Bubba

I entered myself in an adults-only bubble blowing contest last night at the Neighborhood Movie at the Park. And I should have won. But I froze under pressure.

I do think I earned a few points with my rule #1 for public displays: If you think you may lack the necessary skills, have a good back up plan of funny. Engaging personality goes a long, long way

When the host walked down the row to ask each of our names, everyone rattled theirs quickly, like a practiced drum line.

Not me. He held the mic to my face, and I shouted, “TRICIA!!!”

“What, ma’am?”


I paraded and trash talked like a fool, all the while smacking my Hubba Bubba toward the perfect elasticity.

But in my one moment to shine? Nothing. Not a single bubble worth popping. Not even for the mess factor.

When I came back to my seat, to my adoring fans and exuberant offspring, then my bubbles were unbelievable. You would have wanted to take out your pocket tape measure to discuss circumference and diameter.


Where were these when I was on stage in front of 400 people?

Oh, for crying out loud. Ridiculous.  Worthless to me now, bubbles.

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