It’s not worth it.

Beware of foam parties.

I once sprained my knee — or did something to it to make it grow three times its size — during a foam party in the basement of Jillian’s. I think they called it Atlas at the time.

It was the middle of winter, too, so not many people were as excited as I was to do the running man in the middle of a pool of bubbles. In fact, I nearly had the bubbly dance floor to myself.

I fell. A lot. And came out soaking wet — something they don’t tell you before you enter. But, alas, it is a pool of soap bubbles, so I guess there’s water involved.

Anyway, I saw an event this weekend for a Pride foam party, and my 42-year-old self felt the need to reach out to my 27-year-old idiotic self and warn her about the fragility of knees. They won’t always be on your side, so treat them with kindness.