Maybe it was because I had stocked up on adhesive bandages at some point in the past. Maybe it was because I had implemented the rule that no Band-Aids are to be used unless there is blood -- and it's flowing profusely.

Regardless of the reason, Band-Aid purchases had been some time in the past. It wasn't until I mangled my own hand and needed several strips to control the blood loss, that I realized that my household was nearly out of Band-Aids and added it to my shopping list.

Coincidentally, the same list contained toothpaste, something I usually buy in bulk since it's a favorite mirror decorating tool for the four-and-under crowd at my house. But somehow, I had managed to run low on toothpaste too, trying like most people to squeeze just one last brush-full out of the flattened tube for the prior two weeks.

It was time to head to the store. And I was not prepared for what I found.

Turning into the adhesive bandage aisle, I was expecting a couple different brands offering a couple different shapes. Instead, I found an aisle with four shelves, stretching at least 20 feet long.

Before spying the endless variety of bandages, I figured my biggest decision was going to be how many boxes would hold us through the winter months. (A lot of blood-inducing injuries can occur involving sleds, shovels and well-packed snowballs.)

Instead, the choices were endless. How many bandages did I want in a box?

Should the bandages be small or large? Are regular bandages O.K. or should they be waterproof? Did I need bandages specifically for my fingers or would the standard strips stay stuck? And a decision I thought was limited to diapers: cloth or plastic?

I completely steered away from any bandages involving cartoon characters or action figures since those bandages are used in abundance for arm and forehead decorations.

Finally, I just shut my eyes and reached for a box, believing that whatever I grabbed would work. What's the worse that could happen? I ended up with a box 150 little round bandages that would only stop bleeding pin-pricks on the end of the finger. Not the best, but we would just have to use four or five for major cuts.

The next stop was the toothpaste aisle. If I felt overwhelmed in the company of all the bandages, the toothpaste products didn't provide any relief.

I knew that endless companies had gotten into the tooth-cleaning business, but they had each produced 16 flavors with varying extras.

How much whiteness did you want your teeth to have? How sensitive are your teeth? Are you going for bad-breath elimination or fresh breath? (They're evidently not the same thing according to the various options available for purchase.)

This time, I had an alternative purchase plan: coupons. Whatever I had a coupon for combined with the cheapest price was going to win out. I didn't care if my teeth got any whiter as long as the layer of grime was brushed away each morning.

Using up all my toothpaste-related coupons, I headed for the check-out with an eclectic array of toothpaste. For one tube, I would have white teeth.

During the use of another tube, I would have fresh-breath. Another tube would leave me with less tartar.

I vowed not to return to the toothpaste aisle for a long, long time.

Hopefully, by then, these manufacturers will have figured out what we use and will narrow down the choices. Or come up with one more product: Toothpaste and bandages for the indecisive.

-- Ronda Graff bemoans all the choices available today, especially the endless cartoons on T.V. 24-hours a day, 7-days a week, and longs for a return to just Saturday morning cartoons.