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My Kids Love Nothing Like They Love Band-Aids

My kids seem to think that any and all health problems can be solved by putting on a Band-Aid. Minor scrape that’s not even bleeding? Band-Aid. Sunburn? Band-Aid. Stomachache? Band-Aid. Fever? Hell yeah … Band-Aid. They are Band-Aid obsessed, so much so that I am beginning to think they see them as more of a fashion accessory than anything else. It’s like Band-Aids are the new cuff earrings.

And it doesn’t even have to have a fancy design. Yeah, a Star Wars or Hello Kitty would make their day, but even a plain old Band-Aid would work just as fine. It’s like a fashion statement to them. And, if I had to guess, that statement would be, ”I hurt myself and this Band-Aid represents my lifestyle as a dangerous human being who lives life to the fullest.”

I once had to talk my daughter out of putting a Band-Aid on a mosquito bite. She insisted that it itched and the only thing to help relieve the itch was a Band-Aid. I tried to explain that a Band-Aid would only make it itch worse, to which she replied, “Dad, I need this.” She got her way, because who am I to stand in the way of someone’s passion for fashion?

Band-Aids are so important in my kids’ lives that if they meet someone for the first time, the first thing they say is, “Look at my Band-Aid,” followed by a long, drawn out story about how they got hurt and why they need said Band-Aid. They completely brag about it, like it’s something to be proud of or something. Replace my kids with Kanye, and replace Band-Aids with luxury watches, and you basically have the weirdest obsession with “fashion” since people were obsessed with neon-colored overalls.

Part of me gets the appeal. As a kid, I loved Band-Aids as well. Like the parachute pants I later wore in the ‘80s, they drew attention to myself. And who doesn’t like attention? As a kid, if you’re wearing a Band-Aid, inevitably another kid is going to come up to you and say, “Hey, what happened to you?” And then you had a whole story to tell. It’s the childhood equivalent of “Who are you wearing?”

(Plus, let’s be honest here: Band-Aids smell good. Seriously, as a kid I would smell my Band-Aids all day long. I’m not saying someone needs to bottle that scent and sell it at Nordstroms, but I’m not not saying that either.)

But, nowadays as an adult, Band-Aids are nothing but a hassle. They never stay on for more than an hour, they get dirty crazy fast, and if you have one on your finger (like I do right now), then you can pretty much throw the ability to type anything with speed or accuracy right out the window. (FYI: I just typed accuracy wrong three times in a row … stupid $%^**@^ Band-Aid.)

I think that’s when you realize you truly have become an adult. Not the privilege of voting, not being able to drink alcohol, not even the responsibility of having to pay for a 30-year mortgage.

No, the moment you become an adult is the moment you realize that having to put on a Band-Aid is not even cool, but it’s a complete and total pain in the ass.

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