… would be the one in which their child catches head lice. Nits. Those little parasites that plague our playgrounds and our nurseries, tormenting us all with itchy scalps and whining children when we, their doting parents, regress evolutionarily until we resemble lowland gorillas as we search frantically through the hair of our young.
Until yesterday, it was a niggling fear that I'd allowed to be pushed into the back of my mind. Something that I've not had to deal with for 8 years – not since The Boy was a baby and his older sister came home with them. A not so nice gift of furtive scratching and woeful blue eyes turned on me as she confided that one of her friends at school had nits and kept running around placing her head by all of the other children in their class that day. Deliberately. Mm. But yesterday? It returned into my sphere of life with full vengeance.
See... The Boy knows a boy whom I not-so-fondly refer to as Demon Child.
