News-Record.com

One of my childhood chores was to clean the bathrooms, a tedious task that required an attention to detail that was difficult for this grade schooler to perform. Or perhaps more to the point, it was a chore that took me away from my beloved Saturday morning cartoons and I was trying to do a rush job.

The chore was dreaded -- until the day I saw a commercial for a product that would help me reconcile the two tensions. A Holy Grail that would give my mom the sparkling bathrooms she required and me the cartoons I desired: Scrubbing Bubbles.

I watched the TV ad for the cleaner with amazement. With just a spray, an army of hard-working bubbles would attack toothpaste-stained sinks and grubby counter tops, whisking away the dirt so I didn't have to.

I had to have some. I begged. I pleaded. I annoyed. "Mom," I said, "this will make your job so much easier too."

"Nothing works better than good old elbow grease," she replied. Party pooper.

But eventually she gave in and I found a new aerosol can of Scrubbing Bubbles at home waiting to whisk away the dirt.

I ran to the bathroom with the can, eagerly coating the sink with a thick, white foam. I waited to see the bubbles go to work, magically moving across the ceramic basin, leaving a trail of clean behind.

I waited. And waited. No army of bubbles. No magic. Same old toothpaste stains.

My mom walked by the bathroom door and laughed. "Nothing works without elbow grease," she said.

Over time, I've learned that she was right. And this weekend, after seeing another ad for Scrubbing Bubbles, my mom started to laugh all over again.