When my grampa was alive, he had a load of nicknames for me, one of which was “bubble head.” Many of the other nicknames turned out to be racist slurs, but I just figured that out in the last couple of years, because I am a bubble head. I love bubbles. They are shiny, happy, tasty, reflective, and they float. What could be better? Even my dogs love bubbles. I love bubbles so much that I live in one. It is my comfort bubble, and you may mock me for hiding in it sometimes, but it makes me happy.
You may see me floating along, my head in the clouds like a big bubble, trying to maintain my happy state. Don’t pop it. I hate it when people do that. It’s messy.