Apparently now I am spontaneously exploding as a wound appeared out of nowhere on my body a few weeks ago. Some in my inner circle may infer it’s the evil coming out but I am happy to report that a medical professional was abl e to diagnose it as something identifiable in a lab.
The alien, as I referred to it, required coverage and so I got out the bandage bin. There is a bin for almost everything in my house, the better to be obsessively organized with, my dear. The standard Band-Aids were in there but I was surprised to see various sized gauze pads and tape, as well as large adhesive bandages made for giants. Neither my husband nor I have had injuries or procedures requiring anything but a normal Band-Aid or cast and I almost expected to see some plaster powder in the container as well.
Ive seen enough Hoarders shows to know that people can accumulate an excessive amount of stuff, but by the looks of my turn-a-kit, my husband and I are accidents waiting to happen. But we’re not. We just lose our vision and go into congestive heart failure overnight with no warning. Accidents? No. Happenings? Yes. But it turns out that I’m accidentally prepared for dressing a lot more than a turkey.
* After spending hours trying to rhyme an appropriate word with “bin” or “container”, I decided to go with pouch, hoping you will understand.