A Month Old Wristband

August 18th of this year, I was given a red wristband. It was one of those paper-like wristbands that holds itself closed with adhesive. It was white on the inside, but on the outside it was red with black lettering repeating “Wednesday” (the day I received it).

Normally, these types of wristbands are supposed to last a few hours or a day, granting admittance to a quick event. But I was supposed to wear this one for another couple of days, until the end of the week.

After 2 days, the wristband felt like a friend. Now, it’s practically I part of me. It’s been 38 days and I haven’t removed it yet. It feels like a more permanent fixture to my left wrist than my watch is to my right wrist, despite the fact that I’ve worn a watch on my right wrist almost daily for 15 years. But I’ll remove my watch to shower or sleep. I cannot be non-destructively parted from this wristband.

Shockingly enough, it has survived general wear, including many showers. It’s closer to pink than red now. It takes a minute’s work to get it to lay flat—it’s usually rolled up tight.

It’s much stronger than normal paper, but I am acutely aware that I could yank it off at any moment. I haven’t yet been taken by the impulse, but I will eventually. Even this piece of paper cannot last forever.


By November 1, as the weather had started to get colder, I was wearing warmer clothes. On that day, I had a jacket on over a long-sleeve shirt. As I pulled on the fabric to straighten the two layers relative to eachother, my fingers snagged on the wristband, and broke it off. The wristband, which was estimated to last only a few days, had lasted 76 days, or almost a quarter of a year.