Yesterday, one of the highlights was Mavis, Whizz and I staring at one another while we dripped with oily nit killer.
By the time your child reaches the age of almost-14 you expect the days of nits to have passed but somehow Mavis managed to get too close to someone whose head was home to a colony.
To make matters worse we have just been on holiday and Mavis shared a double bed with Amy, who today, heads off to Bahrain for a month to stay with her dad (I’m itching as I write this).
Both my girls have provided homes for nits on occasion so the dripping experience was not new to us. The first time Horace had nits I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t notice anything crawling about on her head but there surely must have been because her scalp was black with their faeces. She had just visited a very upmarket hairdresser in House of Fraser when I discovered the problem. I think the stylist probably threw away her comb after cutting Horace’s hair. The generous parents had also been to visit so they had to treat themselves too.
On an occasion when Mavis sported the little blighters I had the treatment stuff in the house ready. That evening I treated her hair and after the requisite ten minutes, I washed it out and sent her to bed with it still damp. The following morning the hair looked as if it was still wet. It wasn’t, it was just oily but there was no time to wash it again so I sent her to school looking like a greasy teenager.
We did not buy the school photo, taken that day.