I really hate plastic band-aids. They remind me of every part of my chilhood that I hated. The uncomfortable feeling of it being either too tight or too loose depending on how you move, the way it never really fits, I can't stand it. No matter what you do, a plastic band-aid will not be comfortable.
You have to make sure, when applying a plastic band-aid, to choose the correct size. If you pick one too large, you will not only waste it, because there are always less big ones ion a box, but you will cover a larger area with adhesive than neccessary. This means more stinging than neccessary when the time comes to rip the band-aid off. If you choose one too small, it will fall off easily, exposing the wound and losing adhesive. You will then have to apply a secondary band-aid. A careful consideration of band-aid proportion is very important.
I hate things that don't fit. I always have, always will. I refused to wear anything but stretch pants until the age of eleven. I still refuse to wear souvenir tee-shirts until at least two years later, after they've shrunk and I've grown. I will only wear certain pants with certain shirts, not because I care so much that I look cool, but so that things don't bulge or baag or cling in the unappealing ways that most people don't even think about. Things don't necessarily have to be tailored--the occasional tunic or breezy linen blouse is fine. However, they must be carefully matched so that the outfit is balanced, not baggy all over, but not loose on the top and skin-tight on the bottom. I like it when things fit.
Also important when using a plastic band-aid is applying it. Certain angles are not condusive to muscular movement, and certyain locations on the body are hard to fit band-aides to. When dealing with a difficult spot, multiple band-aids are sometimes needed to protect a wound. It is also important that they are not made too tight or loose, as it may case wrinkling or other undersirable things, like peeling or loss of adhesive.
I'm pretty sure that half of my childhood was spent making sure things fit properly. I did not like it when I was playing with a friend dressed in pastels and I was wearing brights. I did not enjoy putting on my mother's shoes, because they were obviously too big. I wasted hours and hours of collective classtime reorganizing my desk at school to accomadate each and every new item, from a stray pencil to a new workbook. Textbooks on the right, stacked parallel to the blackboard, folders and workbooks on the left, perpendicular, pencil cases and tissue boxes had to be level, and no more than two writing utensils coiuld fit in the pencil tray without being stacked. This was very important.
When wearing a plastic band-aid, regardless of whether or not the box says "waterproof", bear this in mind: Plastic band-aids are not waterproof. Do not wash your hands if you are wearing one on your thumb. It will start peeling and you will have to reapply. After bathing or showering, you must also reapply. It is possible though, to kind of "wash around" a bandaid, say, when rinsing your hands off because they are sticky. To avoid loss of adhesive, use one hand to carefully wash the other, rather than slathering both in suds under the faucet. With great care, it is possible to both wash your hands and keep a band-aid. It doesn't quite get your hands as clean, and the band-aid doesn't ever really stay dry, so really it's simply a hassle.
I also really hated conflict as a child, I still do. When I weas young, though, I really hated it. I hated disagreements and uncomfortableness to a point where when my sister and I made up imaginary games, I would sooner have our characters redecorate three times than have them go on an adventure and potentially get in trouble with their imaginary parents or get lost in an imaginary world. I couldn't watch "Arthur" if the characters were fighting. It made me too upset. This feeling applyed to my real life as well, where from third to eigth grade, I carefully cultivated friendships with members of "groups" that did not get along. In elementary school I would schedule when I would sit at what lunch table, because my friends didn't all get along, and I didn't want to upset anyone by not sitting with them. Monday, Wednesday, Friday at Bridget's table, Tuesday and Thurday at Sam's. Every week the schedule rotated, so it was even. The two groups never hated each other, they just didn't get along. I scurried back and forth this way well through juniopr high, taking pains to ensure everything remained intact, that I wouldn't lose bearing in one group by spending too much time with the other. I sidestepped conflict, promoted mediation, and made compromise my middle name.
Plain plastic band-aids are ugly. They not only have the discomforts listed above, but they are just not as cool as the neon ones with cartoons on them. They are boring and tacky, but not in the over-the-top tacky way band-aids should be.
Because of my chilhood quirks above, I turned out to be a really dull child. I hated dirt, activity, games, adventure, and just about everything else that makes a childhood a childhood. I was a delusional six-year-old who thought she was an interior designer. I was a stupid sixth-grader who thought she was an event planner. I kind of hated fun. It wasn't orderly, you couldn't rearrange it, and you had to be spontanious. I wasn't a trouble-maker who started food fights or a pre-teen who had strings of prepubescent boyfriends. As long as I can remember, even in my pre-Kindergarten days, I cannot remember ever wanting to do what my peers were doing. I was always "too mature" or "too good". As result, I became a ridiculously dull child. To this day, I wonder why I ever had friends.
That is why I hate plastic band-aids.
