There are things that scare us all: the thought of getting your head lopped off by a crazy axe murderer, those dreams where you forgot to study for your grade twelve math final, and lice.
Everyone has their idea of what lice will be like. Mine goes something like this:
BUGS ON MY HEAD, KILL ME NOW, KILL ME NOW, AHHH BUGS BUGS BUGS! ON MY HEAD!
The apartment Dan and and I were living in before we bought our first house got roaches about 6 weeks before we moved. I was an absolute mental case. Sleeping with the lights on, throwing every single thing I owned, including Dan himself, in the trash and jumping like a girl every time anyone or anything so much as thought about moving. Because? I am a girl. A screams at the sight of little tiny spiders who are harmless and melts down to a mushy pile of gush on the floor over roaches girl.
Bugs on her head? No problem.
Last month my sister was in hospital for twenty days. Her kids stayed with me for much of that time and it turns out that the youngest meant help me I have lice when she said Auntie, my head is so itchy!
Thing is, I did check her. I was all Responsible Surrogate Parent and despite above mentioned shaking in my boots, screeching like a girl fear of intects in general summoned the courage to fish through her lovely blonde locks in search of vermin.
Did you know that the phrase going over it with a fine tooth comb comes from lice? Because lice hide? And unless you’re fine tooth combing all over the place they can be there laughing at your sorry ass? Munching away and plotting to attack in the night when you least expect it a la Milquetoast the Cockroach?
It was not until after my sister was home with both of her kids that the actual problem was uncovered. By this time there was no doubt and when I was told to check my kids I did what any sensible Mom would do.
I ran up to the bath where Dan had the kids and mouthed the words:
CHECK FOR BUGS! S HAS LICE! BUGS! AHH! HELP! ON THEIR HEADS!
And then I fainted.
Near cousin to the Predictablility of Moms is the Predictability of Dads. Dan did an awful job checking and claimed everything was lovely. Just right as rain. Louse-free. Because Dads are always like oh what IS she going on about? Her lips are moving but my brain is going lalalalaican’thearyou.
The next morning I found the nits and blahdda blahdda blah, pick pick, freak out a little, wash everything we own and more before sitting down and realizing: it’s not really that bad, is it?
And it’s not. Now granted we had a mild case caught early but still. Not nearly as dramatic as, say, roaches! Or even baby spiders who are babies, sure, but ack and ohmygawd still spiders! Lice turns out to be kind of anticlimactic. Perhaps due in large part that we primarily only had the eggs and that just looks like little bits of dirt in your hair and in the course of it all only three maybe four actual bugs were seen. And they were wee. No more frightening than a common fruit fly. Granted, knowing they are on your head is pretty damned gross but still, blah. You know what I mean?
Now as for the cleaning required once lice has reared it’s cute little fruit fly looking head is shockingly disruptive. Because you have to clean everything. And whatever you thinkis everything, you’re wrong. It’s a lot more than that and then some more on top. Every day. AND THEN AGAIN AND AGAIN. And we have six couches, people. SIX. Plus chairs. And beds. And blankets. AND A KATHOUSAND STUFFED ANIMALS AND THE LIKE.
It’s all been deloused. And told that I hate it all for existing. Because when there is lice about the house you wish you lived in a building made of cement and stainless steel. The beds too. No pillows. For the love of god do NOT put your head down on anything soft! Ever! For the love of my sick-of-washing-everything sanity!
Either way, we’ve come out of it alright. Of course everyone says it comes back. I hate those people. Those people are doodieheads. Because shut up, it does not.
And like every person whose ever had lice says, they only like clean hair, you know. Clean hair. We are not dirty people. They liked us because we are superclean. You didn’t get them becuase you’re a filthy slob. Ha ha you.
HA HA.
