Here’s a confession. I have a kink that the mother and the husband know nothing about. I love busting bubble wraps. I love it so much that I can stop everything I am doing and focus on it with an obsession that might seem manic to some. I love it so much that if I chance upon a sheet or a scrap of bubble wrap that someone has busted before me, I am ready to scream blue murder. I love it so much that I wouldn’t share a bubble wrap with my best friend. I love it enough to start a Bubble Busters’ Club on a social networking site. Or a Bubblaholics Anonymous, which is more likely.
It’s not uncool. Some people smoke or clean or game or buy shoes or books or run or kick-box. Some bust bubble wraps. It’s a release. I don’t quite know the origin of it, and I don’t really care.
Having said that, I must add that I am quite fastidious about the quality of bubble wraps I engage with. If the bubbles are not succulent enough (okay, I hate that word, but it explains what I mean), I feel very very short changed. It’s like gifting a single-malt guy a blended whisky.
In fact one of the exciting things about opening my wedding presents was to check how many of them had bubble wraps, and how many of those bubble-wraps had potential to pop really well. More than finding out what the presents were, I was excited about saving up each piece of these happiness-inducing goodies for a rainy day when I am home alone and can bust them to infinite glory.
My fellow bubble busting brethren at work—Vivek, Lolita, Varsha, Sita, Stephaney and Anita are always apprised of any piece of bubble-wrap making its appearance in the building. In fact just last week, I had a tip-off from a kind soul in the IT department—a new consignment of bubble-wrap had arrived downstairs. I jumped with glee, because two of the aforementioned are on leave, so that implied more bubbles per square inch for me!
Each of us has our own unique technique of busting the bubble. Some like to start in the middle and just do it in one go. Phat! Hit or miss!
Others, like me, love pushing the bubble to one side, so that the sound of the bust is amplified. PHAT! And some sadists in the group love wringing the whole sheet like they were wringing a dripping towel off water, producing multiple sounds—almost like those 1000 and 10000-wala crackers in Diwali. I think a good bubble wrap doesn’t deserve that, as you will always find stray bubbles feeling left out at such mass extinction. You have to give each bubble its due, is my philosophy. I am no mass bubble-killer.
Okay, there I have said it. I feel better now. Now to find a nice piece of bubble wrap to bust. Or may be wait till the weekend when the husband and I move house. I do hope the packers use good quality bubble-wraps for all our fragile stuff. I just can’t wait to find out how much bubble-wrap I am going to inherit!