Liking Bandaids

Is it weird to enjoy wearing bandaids?

I don’t know why, but whenever I have an excuse to wear a bandaid, I actually kind of look forward to it. Maybe I like showing off the fact that I’ve been wounded, as if a bandaid is some kind of status symbol, like a scar but a lot less awesome. Maybe I’m fascinated by the concept of the body’s ability to be damaged and heal itself. Maybe it’s a holdover from the infantile awareness that being hurt gets you attention. (Come on, admit it: before you broke a bone for a first time, you sometimes imagined how cool it would be to wear a cast, and have all your friends sign it.)

Whatever the reason is, I’m mildly embarrassed to admit my fascination with wearing bandaids. When I give blood or accidentally cut myself, I like to keep the bandaids on longer than I know is necessary, and once they’re off I keep checking out the damaged area just in case I might need to put a new one on again.

I can’t believe I’m the only one like this. Come on, all my bandaid lovers! Show me some solidarity! Anyone…?

P.S. I like to accompany my blog posts with photos I’ve taken myself, but I already took the blood donation bandaid from yesterday off, and I didn’t think a picture of a tiny little red spot on my arm would be very interesting, so you get a generic image from the internet instead.

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