shoot

Damnit, I have no band aids. They have all been stolen out of my hut. Every. Last. One.

I gave away more band aids than I used, and now there are none left. I can’t wait until the next time someone comes to me with a cut and I can say, “Sorry, someone stole them.”

Then I can look at them really hard, telegraphing my suspicions. Of course, that’s not going to work because it won’t be the perpetrator, but I might feel better.