Band-Aid Torture
My daughter comes up to me, big smile on her face, Band-Aid on her forehead. I size up the situation and know what I must do. My fingers tingle as my whole being fills with anticipation. Maxie steps closer saying something about Black Doggie. I quickly ignore her two year old prattle, and focus on the task at hand. I only have one shot, and I don't want to blow it. One more step, her face open, her eyes full of trust. DON'T. I can't afford any sentimentality. Sentimentality clouds the judgement. And it is clear...abundantly clear the course of action I must take. Now I'm in the zone. Maxie begins to lean in. Her mouth parts, eyes blink. Wait for it. All my focus goes to ripping off that motherfuckin' Band-Aid. Three...two... Why do kids go ape shit over Band-Aids? (I probably should have written adhesive bandages instead of the brand name, but like most Americans I also refer to tissues as Kleenex, gelatin as Jell-O, and change as Obama.) Every time I buy a box of ...