Who knew Band-Aids were a symptom of White Privilege?
Ah, okay, Bishop Talbert Swan.
You know, I think I’ve written about this guy before.
I don’t know anybody who goes searching for a Band-Aid that matches his skin color, do you?
It isn’t like finding the right make-up for pity’s sake.
Band-Aids don’t match anybody’s skin color.
Even that picture he posts kinda proves that. It isn’t like Where’s Waldo. I can see the damn Band-Aid on that arm because it doesn’t match the person’s skin.
Does anyone fear public scorn because the Band-Aid on his arm is a tone or two off?
“Honey, how about we eat out tonight.”
“What?! I couldn’t possibly be seen in public! My Band-Aid doesn’t match my skin!!”
Now, I’m an especially clumsy person. It’s kind of a running joke with people who know me. They snarkily tell me I need to be encased in bubble-wrap just to make it through a day unscathed. Oh, hardy-har. It is to laugh.
But as a result of my lack of grace, I go through bandages the way most people go through Kleenex.
Remember Les Nessman from WKRP in Cincinnati? Sure, you probably know him because of the “Drop Turkeys from a Helicopter” Thanksgiving episode. But there was also a running joke on the show that Les always had a bandage somewhere on his person – a finger, an arm, his forehead.
Well, that’s pretty much how I am.
And nine times out of ten I use a white gauze pad and white tape – a color combination that would only be a match to Casper the Ghost.
But on occasion I also use Band-Aids (there’s one on my left middle finger now as a matter of fact). And the ones I currently have happen to be brown. I bought these brown Band-Aids because Kinney Drugs had the 100-count, multi-sized box on sale.
I didn’t look at the sale box and say, “Oh, damn. These are buy one get one free. But they’re brown! I can’t possibly buy these because they don’t match my skin color!”
No, instead, I looked at the sale tag, said, “Cool! Buy one get one free!” Then I bought them.
It has never occurred to me to go to the drug store and ask for a Band-Aid that matches the exact tone of my skin. And I have never once thought to myself, “I’m so glad I’m white because it makes Band-Aid purchasing a breeze!”
Because I’m not insane.
This isn’t like matching your shoes to your belt for crying out loud.
Last winter I walked into an open kitchen cabinet door and had a big old gash over my eyebrow. I cut a piece of gauze to cover it and then put white bandage tape over the top. And you want to know something? Not a single person said to me, “Oh, how gauche! Dianny, you didn’t skin-color coordinate your first aid choice!”
No. Most people said, “Good Lord, Dianny! Now what did you do?!”
And for his sake, I hope Bishop Talbert Swan doesn’t know that Band-Aid sells Barbie, Disney, Hello Kitty and Sponge Bob bandages!
Who knows how he’d take that news?
This Band-Aids are White Privilege claptrap is a prime example of what we call “First World Problems.”
Life must be pretty damn good here in the US of A if this guy has to resort to bitching about Band-Aid colors.
I mean, how easy is your life if you obsess about something so moronic and inconsequential?
This is the problem with a term like “White Privilege.”
It’s pretty much meaningless.
At this point, near as I can figure, the term White Privilege means “I’m desperate to be a victim.”
But if you have to get your victimhood fix from Band-Aids, seems to me, you’re really not much of a victim after all.
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