I believe I was four, and I remember placing each Band-Aid on any visible skin possible. The room in darkness concealing my presences and securing my hiding place. Every box empty and its contents stuck to my soft skin. Hundreds of wrappers covering the floor crunching beneath my feet as I wiggle my legs. As I extend my legs then Band-Aids expand tugging at my fair hair upon my arms and legs. I remember being extremely proud of my hard work accomplished. Of course I began with my hands, so attempting to open the Band-Aid’s wrappers took much skill as a child. I believed I had mad skills and a new proud talent. I remember sitting on the floor applying band-aids continuously to open areas of flesh.
Suddenly the door swings open and the light engulfs me. I don’t remember my mother’s reaction, but I do remember me smiling back, standing confidently, and relishing in my accomplishments. The sudden opening of the door was because I supposedly had been gone far too long and I was way too quiet. I am a Band-Aid lover and I still am to this day. Which means my family still hides the special band aids from me; though, I am allowed to use the $1 a box band aids. My mother forever called me Mad Max. Which is perfectly fine with me, because I see myself as the Band-Aid bandit!