I shouldn’t admit this but for the sake of this bit, here goes ….

When I was a kid they didn’t have the ouchless band-aids yet.  I never let my mom rip my band-aid off and I never took it off myself. If my mom tried to take it off I would cry bloody murder, as though she was coming towards me with a machete.

Yes, I was one of those kids that would have a dangling band-aid rather than the momentary not-quite pain of ripping it off.  At times I would cut the dangling parts off.  I’d wind up with the tiniest little bit of band-aid still attached. 

Who knows where that fear of ripping it off came from.  In the summer I now have all sorts of band-aid less wounds when I’m out in the mountains roughing it. Yet, when I hear the term, “Just rip the band-aid off”, yikes do I empathize. 

I’m over 60 yrs old and well …. still use band-aids until I’m sure I don’t need it anymore.  The other day I cut myself with a knife.  It wasn’t a bad cut.  It looked and felt like a paper cut.  My point is that in that sliver of cut there is a teeny-tiny flap of skin that catches on fabric and THAT is the part that hurts.  It’s ok.  I roll my eyes at myself sometimes too.  Ok, a lot.

Yesterday I thought was the last day of having a band-aid on the cut. Last night I …. “Ouch” …. caught that bit of skin on my clothes.  I looked at my hand and thought, “How can that be”?  I see my band-aid,  I then realized that I had the band-aid on the wrong finger.   

Argh!  Ugh!  Thank goodness I can laugh at myself, and often!