Review: Mr. Bubbles

Oh dear God no! To those of us who remember Mr. Bubbles (or still use it) it was a bath time adventure. The adventure of soaking in a pillowy mound of pink bubbles, screaming for Mom to come look at your foam beard or bubble hat creations. I remember diving below the mountain of bubbles during my first Mr. Bubbles bath experience and it was so much fun! I will never forget the sweet soapy smell of the popping little bubbles as my Mom lowered a then 4 year old little Justin into the warm water of the white porcelain claw-foot bathtub.

Considering this was my first Mr. Bubbles experience and only having been 4 years old, I had already heard the rumors that this was the “best of the best” when it came to bubbly bath time fun. I had my rubber ducky, my flimsy squeaking (but ferocious) toy great white shark, as well as a few Smurfs that happen to sink to the bottom of the tub. Slipping and sliding all about the tub, I was having a blast. Sloshing about, splashing water all over the hexagon tiles below the tub, I can remember the second story window that was just above my head that had a slight draft. The water was warm, but not hot… strangely enough, the water seemed to be getting warmer and warmer.

Thinking nothing of the warming water, I continued to play in the tub. This was before the days when a parent was required to sit perched in a mini-lifeguard tower, with a rape whistle and megaphone to chaperone  a simple bathing session. Instead, my 25yo Mother was probably in the kitchen wrapped around 18feet of beige telephone cord, drinking a Tab Cola (or wine) gabbing with a girlfriend about the new Phil Collins record. Anyway, as I continued to play in the pink cotton candy of a tub, the warm water started to crawl up my face and all over my body. The air was getting thick and I was beginning to struggle to breathe.

I screamed, “Mommy! Mom! Mooo’oommmm! MOM MOM MOM!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

She rushed into bathroom, scooped me up and realized that this would be my last Mr. Bubbles experience. The warming water was not the issue, it was good ol’ Mr. Bubble himself. That deceiving smile and trusting eyes… that was no “Pink Bubble” of a cartoon, that was a cartoon “HIVE”. My body was covered in splotchy allergic hives. Mr. Bubble had unknowingly attacked me. Mom filled me up with antihistamine and quickly rinsed me off in a cold shower. She slipped me into my Pound Puppy body pajamas, and just when I thought the horrific adventure was over, with a quick tug… zip and snag, Mom caught my little fuzzy peach baby nut-sack in the zipper.  Thankfully there was no damage, it was just a pinch… but trusting Mom with my hygiene and naked body ended that day.

So when I see this post by Jenni, and her “Mr. Bubble Themed Bathroom” … those are the memories that come to mind.

Conclusion: Mr. Bubbles is the Devil.

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