Who designed these anyhow?
Something dawned on me last night. Band-Aids (or adhesive bandages for those of you who are worried about trademark issues) are incredibly racist. I don't know why it's taken 30 years of slapping those sticky strips on my appendages for me to realize this.
We went hiking yesterday afternoon in the open space area behind our neighborhood. It's this wonderfully rocky piece of land with tall grasses and huge boulder formations. You have to walk up a neighbor's driveway to access the property. Kevin always feels like we're trespassing when we turn up the concrete drive with white wagon wheels at the end. He always shushes me. As if the people in the green house aren't going to see us walking right up their driveway. Maybe if we're silent they might not notice two adults, a dog pulling one of them like it's the Iditarod, and a baby strapped to the front of the other one gurgling away.
I guess I have a loud voice - or at least my darling husband thinks so. And when I get really excited about something, I'm told it gets louder the more animated I become. When we're in public, Kevin has this secret code that he uses. This all started because I hate (let me repeat, HATE being shushed!) He will forcefully stroke my knee under the table when I get too loud. This is supposed to gently indicate to me that my story is echoing throughout the restaurant, train, etc. All it really does is make me want to talk louder because I'm stubborn that way.
Anyway, when we're hiking he can't very well lean over and stroke my knee without Bailey pulling him face first through the scree field or Alex kicking him in the face. So he shushes. Grrr. I have protected that man from more than one hiding bear or moose in Alaska with my loud talking. Sure he loves it when it prevents Bullwinkle from getting mad because we snuck up on him, but in a white tablecloth restaurant, it's a problem. *Huff*...men can be so fickle.
But back to the story. We're hiking. It was hot when we left the house so I decided to wear shorts. A quarter of the way along on the hike a large tree with sharp branches jumped off the ground and bit my leg. I seem to have this problem wherever I go. Trees reach out and grab me, cracks rise up off the sidewalk to trip me. Inanimate objects are out to get me. Who me? Paranoid? The Attack Tree took a big bite out of my shin. Just a surface scratch really, but enough to make an ugly scab across half of my leg.
This would not normally be a problem, but we're going to a wedding next weekend and I need to wear a dress. With the wedding being in San Ramon, CA, the weather will be hot. I will not be wearing hose in the CA heat to camouflage the handiwork of the Pine Tree Altercation. I got to thinking that maybe a Band-Aid could hide the cut and make me look a little more presentable. I pulled one out of the box, slapped it on my leg and called it good.
Last night I realized the problem. Whose skin is really this color? This is supposed to be flesh colored? The Johnson & Johnson people must have gotten together with the Crayola people and decided that "flesh" should be this crazy salmon-y color. I know that in recent years Crayola has attempted to get more p.c. with varying skin tones in the 64-crayon box. But J&J is apparently behind the times. These Band-Aids don't blend in on my skin AT ALL. How are my African-American or Latino friends supposed to remotely attempt to disguise their cuts? Invisible Band-Aids? SHAH!! AS IF! *Growing increasingly louder as I become more animated.*
Now I could get all soap-boxey and boycott J&J for being culturally insensitive. But aren't there more important things to take a stand on? Besides, Bullwinkle is much more likely to attack us for the blood trail resulting from Band-Aid Boycott 2005 than he is if I succumb to the Loud Voice Embargo and start being silent in the forest.