I love bubble wrap. I mean, I love it so much I have been known to go to packing stores and buy some just so I can have a metric ass load of it on hand. I even have a bubble wrap app. (Don’t judge. It’s cheaper than therapy!)
So when one of us gets a package that has real live bubble wrap in it, I call dibs and will even body check my own kid against a wall to make sure I lay claim to it. (Again, don’t judge. It’s a life lesson for them.) A few days ago I received a package with some such product and BUBBLE WRAP. (Yes, it is much like a kid who spends more time playing with the box than the toy that was in the box.)
This is my beautiful therapy. Bubble wrap. Oh, sure, it annoys everyone around me who is not popping it. (And I don’t share.) I have always been a bubble wrap addict. I’m okay with that. There are worse things I could be doing. Like say, making outfits out of bubble wrap and a crown and declaring myself Bubble Wrap Queen of the Universe. (Come to think of it…)
So imagine my delight when Clint brought me some super duper extra huge bubble wrap. It was like a Christmas miracle! I admit the excitement over it probably says a lot about my need to get out of the house more but I was happy. (Brilliant idea: Bubble wrap slippers. But you can re-inflate the bubbles after they pop. OR or or bubble wrap drink cozies. You can have your Diet Coke and pop the bubble wrap all at the same time. Really, the possibilities are endless.) Well, this is what he brought home to me. Look at them side by side:
I squealed with joy! It was my nirvana of bubble wrap. I imagined how loud the pop would be. I imagined how my daughter would come running to pop one or two. (And I might have shared. One pop.) I imagined the Doberbutt running for cover. It was glorious. I snatched it up and giggled.
Look at it closely. Extremely closely.
THE HELL?! This isn’t bubble wrap at all. All of the “bubbles” are attached so there is no popping. There is no snap, crackle, make your dog run away pop!
IT IS FAKE BUBBLE WRAP! And to hand it to me and tell me it is a gift of bubble wrap just for me? Well that just isn’t right and someone is going to pay for it.
Sure a normal person would think that was just hi-larious. No. It was not. It was mean. But, I’m not mad. Oh, no. I’m not going to get mad. I’m going to GET EVEN. (Suggestions are welcome.) In fact, I think Clint can think about how wrong and mean this was while he is sleeping on the couch. Or cooking my dinner. Or working on a honey-do list so long he won’t even remember a time he wasn’t in trouble.
Don’t screw with a Southern woman and her bubble wrap, y’all. It’s just not nice.