Bandaids

Bandaids are the most useless things in the world. Trust me, I should know.
They seem to live everywhere. Homebrand ones that are ten years old and have lost their stick lurk in the bathroom cupboards. Tiny little ones that cover about three millimeters of skin and do nothing when you peel the tops off your knees on the netball courts live in Mum's handbag. And pus infected ones that have finally given way after six months flat on the same elbow ensure a dry patch at all times on the shower floor. And these are some of the lighter cases.
Only yesterday I was scraping some eleven year old stickers off my desk, and I scraped so hard and so fast I skinned my finger. On went the bandaid. And then it came off again. And the skinned finger is just as skinned as when it was without bandaid.
I read these bandaid packages like they're telling me where the elixir for youth is. I follow the instructions as carefully as if I was detaching a bomb tied around my mother's neck. And when I look at the final product, I may as well take it to Coles, show the monotonic employee I bought it from, and ask for my fifty cents back. Because every time, without fail, something has gone wrong.
It could be that a hair is stuck in it. A nice long black one, the sort you don't really want to know where it's come from. And even if you pull on this hair, the grease it encases means your fingers slip straight through, and you're in danger of needing another baindaid for that papercut. Without fail, the hair trails along every single thing you use your finger for. It gets stuck in the pancake mix you are making and trails eggs and milk and flour, and not to mention the ever-present grease, through the chamomile tea you're making your blind great grandfather. In short, it causes uncontrollable havoc within seconds.
Even worse, the bandaid may swivel around, the sticky part digging into the open flesh and causing an infection that gradually seeps into the body's system, poisoning the blood system and ensuring eventual amputation of the finger. When this does no good and you start feeling sweaty and feverish you are hospitalised for six months flat, running up a monstrous hospital bill that causes your parents to go bankrupt. Then you suddenly drop dead, your brothers and sisters are sent out to foster homes, and your parents have to live in nursing homes for the next thirty years.
As you can see, these sterile health and safety implements are a serious danger that many people are too prejudiced to believe. Harmless as they may seem, you would do well to take my advice: The next time you slice your finger open instead of the onion, do yourself a favour and put some antiseptic and a thick cloth bandage on. It may have been the last onion you had ever sliced.
You're Welcome!