I like breaking all of the rules

Band-aids are for blood

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I often wonder who came up with the idea that a band-aid was a functional tool for covering up anything that was bad.  Even the name makes no reference to the fact you are placing a plastic flexible bandage over a wound to stop it from bleeding or protect it from the elements while it heals.  Its all in your damn head.  Does it actually stop the bleeding?  Does it make your cut heal faster?  No, its stickiness attaches itself to your hair and rips it out painfully and the residue that it leaves behind, is like the ever lasting memory of the event itself which led you to wearing the damn thing to begin with.  So why are we fascinated by them…why do we print happy cartoon characters on them for kids, why does it seem to make everything better for the time being?  Because unlike everything else in our lives, it represents something we can use practically in most situations, other than:  “My dog just got ran over”, “I had a miscarriage”, “I got fired from my job”, “My cheating husband finally left me for the younger woman”…”where are the f-ing band-aids????????”  Oh that’s right, they are found in the bottom of that empty red wine bottle you just finished off…And just as that red wine wears off the next morning and the event that wounded you and has now left you scarred…is still staring you in the face, just as that unfortunate stumble you took and scraped your knee, giving an unsightly scar to make you self conscience of wearing a dress…you are forever fucked my friends.  Or you can suck it up, brush yourself off…and stand right back up and do it all over again…fuck the band-aid..wear your scars proud.

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One response

  1. Pingback: How About a Quarter and We’ll Call it Even, Steven… | Sometimes Y, and After C

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