Bad Marketing ...

I've oftened talked, either on here or in person, of my life with the devil cat, C-Rex, and his apparent feline delight in seeing how much blood he can draw from me in a single day. I've named him C-Rex due to his stance when he's in his "Attack Mode". Seated upright on his hind legs, his front paws pressed tightly against his chest, ears folded back and his pupils dilated so large that you can see your own scared expression reflected back at you, he reminds me a Terranasaurus Rex doing battle.

I partially blame myself for his behavior. I enjoy tormenting him. Sometimes, we would be sitting on the sofa, C-Rex contently purring, sprawled out next to me with his head dangling over the edge of the cushion. I would suddenly thrust my arm out, my fingers bent tightly in a defensive claw-like position. C-Rex would slowly lift his head up and look at me, one eye blinking the sleep away. If he lowered his head again, I would softly growl and wiggle my fingers infront of him until I see him slowly fold his ears back and look at me more intensely. We would remain that way for as little as a few seconds or as long as a half a minute, before C-Rex would suddenly leap up and wrap his paws around my wrist and begin gnawing at the flesh between my thumb and index finger. Then, as quickly as it began, he would release his teeth and claws and leap off the sofa to take his stalking position under the dining table. He would continue to stare, readying himself for another attack, occasionally being distracted by a rogue dust bunny, until I claimed defeat and turned my attention elsewhere.

He's also developed the strange habit of attacking me every time I try to leave the house. I would like to think it's his way of trying not to get me to leave and to spend more time with him, but that's probably just wishful thinking.

My sofa sits perpendicular to the front door, extending out into the middle of the livingroom. Whenever I go to leave the house, C-Rex would take his attack stance on the floor or sofa and, just as I'm walking behind the sofa, spring into action, leaping up onto the back cushions and wrapping his paws tightly around my arm and begin gnawing through my sleave. Unless I provoke him (which is more often than not) his gnawing is soft, but tension-filled, as if his his mind is telling him God, how I want to just rip this arm apart, but I can't...I...just...CAN'T!! It's the hand that feeds me!

The point I'm trying to make is that I have war wounds. There are days when I look like I tried to get affectionate with Edward Scissorhands. Sure, it's annoying to have to explain my scratches and tell people no, it's not self-mutilation and no, it's not stigmata. It's just playtime with the devil-cat.

Anyway, last week, I decided enough was enough. I stopped in to CVS on my way home from work to pick up a few essentials. With my arms cradling paper towels, coffee, milk, bread, kitty litter, and a few other things, I found myself walking down the first-aid aisle towards the register. I figured I may as well pick up a box of band-aids. However, I felt it would be even more embarrassing to explain my body riddled with flesh colored plastic strips than the actual scratches themselves, so I quickly scanned the shelves for the more inconspicuous clear band-aids. Finding a box, I juggled the other items in my possession, stuffing things under my arms and between my teeth, in order to grab a box of band-aids from the shelf. I made my way to the register, paid for the items and went home.

I never needed the band aids until yesterday...

My last thing on my to-do list before heading off to work was brush my teeth. C-Rex loves the smell of mint and, as with any other morning, he jumped up onto the sink and raised his head, his tiny nose wiggling back and forth like Elizabeth Montgomery. I bent down closer, not seeing the trickery in those eyes until it was nearly too late.

Almost instantly, C-Rex's pupils dilated, his ears folded back and he charged. I pulled back just in time, keeping his claws away from my face and, more importantly, my eyes. But he went for the toothbrush, wrapping his paws around my wrist. Had I just played along, it would've been the normal routine with him gnawing and then releasing. But, in my startled retreat I nearly pulled him off the sink and his claws dug deep into my wrist before he let go and fell to the floor. An inch long scratch at the base of my palm like an extention of my life-line began to redden as blood made its way to the surface. I cursed myself and C-Rex as I ran my wrist under some cold water. The cut wasn't deep, but just enough to ruin my shirt if my sleeve brushed against it. Not to mention it looked like a half-assed suicide attempt.

Good thing I just bought some new band-aids...

I reached in the medicine cabinet, pulled down the box, opened it and pulled out an individually wrapped bandage, all while thinking it'll be cool...they're clear...I won't have to explain away a band-aid at the base of my wrist...

I tore apart the wrapping, peeled away the backing and slapped the band-aid over the scratch.

Then I paused...

I looked, questioning in my mind to what I was seeing...

I looked at the box and read it again: BAND-AID Brand Adhesive Bandages...PERFECT BLEND Clear Bandages... "Breathable protection that blends with the skin...

So why wasn't it blending? Why do I have this dark patch on my wrist?

I read the side of the box: Available in 3 shades...Light, Medium, Deep

Now, not that I have a problem with this (other than the fact that I have a box of band-aids in my medicine cabinet that is anything BUT inconspicuous), I think, when Johnson & Johnson come out with a bandage that is specifically meant for African Americans, it should actually SAY something to that effect on the box! Sure, there's a picture on the front, but the top of the box says "CLEAR" The way the shelves were stocked, the top of the box was all you could see. It just seems to me that, after 55 years of having the flesh-colored strips on store shelves, introducing a new (and much darker) color should be packaged much better.