Max and the Great Bubble Disaster

Max was six years old and absolutely certain of two things:

1. He was a superhero in disguise.

2. Bubble gum was a magical invention, probably made by wizards.

As a result, he knew that fate had chosen him when he discovered a family-sized pack of Mega Bubble Blasters in the kitchen drawer, normally reserved for unforeseen circumstances like road trips or Aunt Mabel visits. "Mom, can I have one?" His voice was already getting close to angelic as he asked sweetly. "Just one, Max. And do not stick it in your hair again. I'm still traumatized from last time."

Max gave a salute that would have made the army proud. "Yes, ma'am!"

He unwrapped the shiny pink gum like it was treasure. It smelled like strawberries, sugar, and poor decisions.

One piece. Two. Three. He figured three pieces still technically counted as “one” if they were chewed at the same time. Right?

As he chewed, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel storing snacks for winter. He felt powerful. Invincible. Slightly sticky. The time had come to make... The World's Biggest Bubble.

Max took a deep breath and blew. The gum grew as big as a pink candy heaven balloon. His eyes widened as it grew... and grew… and grew.

Then it popped.

Spectacularly.

It didn’t just land on his nose. Oh no. That would’ve been too simple. This gum had ambition. It clung to his eyebrows, covered his ears, and somehow managed to stick under his chin as it wrapped around his entire face. He tried to peel it off. It stretched. It shattered. It put up a fight. He looked like he’d been attacked by a cotton candy monster.

"MAX!" His mother's voice came from the hallway. He had about four seconds to come up with a solid plan.

He ran to the bathroom, grabbed the nearest hat (a wool beanie that used to belong to their cat), and jammed it on his head. Some of the gum squished sideways and stuck to the hat. The hat clung to his head like Velcro. The pink, fuzzy helmet was now on him. Looking in the mirror, he shrugged. "Could be worse."

He entered the kitchen in a casual manner, as if he had no secrets or bubble gum on his head. His mother lowered her pupils. "Why are you wearing a hat made of wool? It’s 82 degrees outside."

Max blinked. "Fashion."

She raised an eyebrow. "Take it off."

"Uh. I can’t. My hair’s...cold."

His mom stepped forward. She pulled the hat gently—and stopped.

Is that... bubble gum? Max showed the most innocent expression. The one he practiced in the mirror when trying to get extra dessert. “It might be.”

Twenty minutes later, Max was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, head tilted over a bowl of olive oil while his mom worked through his hair like a determined archaeologist uncovering a pink, chewy fossil.

"You know,” she said, trying not to laugh as she removed a large chunk from his ear, “you *always* do this."

"Not always," Max mumbled. "Sometimes I get it on the dog."

Right on cue, their golden retriever, Muffin, waddled into the kitchen...with a piece of gum stuck to his tail.

"Max!"

"That wasn’t me!" Max said quickly. "Probably...static electricity."

Eventually, the gum was removed, the hat was never the same, and Muffin was gently de-gummed using peanut butter and a lot of bribery.

Later that night, as Max got ready for bed, he looked at his mom.

"Hey Mom?"

"Yes?"

"That was totally worth it."

She laughed. “Go to sleep, Bubble Boy.”

Max grinned, already dreaming of his next adventure. Possibly with whipped cream. Or maybe glitter.

Or, if he could find it, the gum that never loses its flavor.

Because when you’re six years old, the world is full of possibilities—and just a little bit of bubble trouble.