A couple of nights ago I sliced my left thumb while making some chicken stew. (There will be no recipe for this, since it was on the order of take some carrots, a stock of celery, a double handful of mushrooms, and half an onion, and some leftovers -- chicken and potato salad, a couple of spoonfuls of canned spaghetti sauce, a big slosh of white wine, a drinking cup of water, and five cups of chicken stock leave in a 300 degree oven for 2 hours, marjoram, sage, oregano, and the juice of half a lemon, black pepper, salt, call it good. Oh, I guess that pretty well is a recipe.) I fumbled through the cupboard over the sink while trying not to bleed on anything I was planning on eating. Found the Band-aids (Waterproof, size medium). Slapped one on the wound and went back to making dinner.*
The next morning I woke up. Sometime later in the day I noticed I wasn't wearing the Band-aid. I didn't remember taking it off, but it was entirely within character to have forgotten such a thing. I went off and washed my hair instead. Ran some errands in a down pour without a rain jacket (I'd looked outside and thought it looks like rain, and then completely discounted that observation). I went to Tacoma, in further rain, this time wearing a rain jacket, missed my stop** and ended up at the Park and Ride in South Tacoma, where it was raining sideways.
In short I spent most of yesterday varying degrees of soaked to the bone.
This afternoon I discovered that the errant Band-aid from two days ago, was stuck to my lower back. I have no idea how it got there, but I am very very impressed with its tenacity in staying. Although really I would have preferred that it had stayed on my thumb.
*Bob's Red Mill Irish Soda Bread Mix? Yum.
**Or possibly I was on the wrong bus, there is an increasing amount of evidence in that direction. In any case I was definitely reading.