Remember when being blood sisters was, like, “the thing”? Well…maybe it was never the thing, but I remember when it seemed like it was. Kind of like, when you first learn about some new concept or idea and then you suddenly start hearing it all over the place.
I had a “blood sister” when I was in elementary. We were very ritualistic about it, too. We each located a scab somewhere on our 7-year-old bodies, and proceeded to pick those scabs off and rub our wounds together. We really felt like we had gone through some secret rite of passage.
But, really. Gross! Right?
I can’t imagine picking a scab to make something bleed, let alone rubbing it on someone else! Ewwww!
I thought about that today when I slapped a mosquito on my arm. It was massive! It was dragging so hard from my vein that I felt slightly dizzy. The stinger was like a straw that might come with a Route 44 from Sonic, only it wasn’t really that big. Actually, I think the mosquito itself was kind of on the small side of large. It was mainly tiny. I hardly felt it, really. But! It was large in spirit as it took on the challenge of sapping every last drop of blood from my body.
I think it was pretty much finished drinking when I hit it, because it was one of those bloody kind of slaps. It made me remember when I had that blood sister for, like, a day in second grade. Then I had this thought that I was now blood sisters with some poor slain mosquito. A brilliant light snuffed out in the prime of her life, on a full belly no less!
Later, when I was absently scratching a welt the size of a Route 44 from Sonic, I didn’t feel bad about slapping that mosquito. What a thief! If she was a person, and we were in second grade together and she asked me to be her blood sister, I would tell her no to her face, before I slapped her.
