Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you irrefutable evidence that the song "Bubbly" by Colbie Callait could be interpreted as something other than a young lady in love. I present to you proof that this song is about the most rewarding, fulfilling and occasionally uncomfortable of human bodily functions: poop.
First, let's examine the title of the song: Bubbly. Sure, we could be talking about one's personality, the feeling you get deep down when someone makes your heart flutter, but most likely it's the feeling deep down in your stomach after bad Mexican food: bubbly.
Next, let's look at the chorus: "It starts in my toes, make me crinkle my nose, where ever it goes, I always know that you make me smile"
What was the last thing that started in your toes, and worked it's way up, to the point of you wanting to scrunch your face up (crinkling your nose...)? I'll give you a hint: you probably had the urge to shout, "fire in the hole!", you were probably running up the stairs and willing to stiff arm your grandmother, small children or even a pet on your way to the porcelain throne. The last thing that affected you from your toes to you nose and everything in between was not love, it was poop. Admit it.
"I've been awake for a while now, you've got me feelin like a child now...I get the tinglies in a silly place"
Do I really even need to address this?? Really?!
"The rain is fallin on my window pane, but we are hidin in a safer place..."
In other words: "No place I'd rather be on a rainy day with potential diarrhea (or constipation) than the comfort of my bathroom"; Miss Callait goes on to sing, "... under covers stayin dry *(safe) and warm you give me feelins that I adore"; my guess is either an ode to Charmin (TM) or the refuge of a soft blanket on the couch after a rough inning at the plate, if you catch my drift.
"What am I gonna say when you make me feel this way I just........mmmmmm" --Sounds like a sigh of relief if I ever did hear one...
"It starts in my soul, and I lose all control"
'Round my house, we call this a "poop-splosion". They are most often had by my son, however, Lindsay and I both have fallen victim to a "loss of control"; unfortunately for the other party, this means that stiff arms have been given en route to the "thinking room" and all laundry was spared.
This next one very well may be just me, but, I can't help but to see Mr Hankey Poo on a raft, turning and waving as I hear, "just take your time, where ever you go..."
I leave you with the beautiful and talented, Colbie Callait.
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