The screams of children, the wriggling to escape from your arms and do something FUN, the squeals, the mayhem.
All of which sounds like a bloody fun time. I had all of the above at the festival we hosted in our bath this evening. A Nit Harvesting Festival.
I notices a few in the baby’s hair during the day. Even some crawles. When I say “few” I mean a “lot”. A colony. Or perhaps “plague” is a much more apt term to use in this case.
How the hell does a baby get lice?!
I’m going with the standard … “Oh, he’s the yougest, so he’ll get everything much earlier than the other two did. He’ll be exposed to things much sooner than his brothers were.” That’s my excuse, officer, and I’m sticking to it.
So, with him clamped firmly between my thighs, head smothered in cheapo, alleged apple-scented conditioner and a fine-toothed comb running through his barely locks, I was treated to the dulcit tones of one kid whinging “I hate nits, it’s not fair, why do we have to do this again, I’m not doing it, I hate having that stuff in my hair” etc etc and the other lying on the tiled floor screaming much the same.
Geez, coz I love it and am having the absolute time of my life. I wish we could do this every night. I mean, have you ever tried drinking a sav blanc in the bath, with your hands coated in conditioner and a wriggling, crying baby between your legs trying to escape. And you need the wine!
I calmy encourage them to cooperate, with promises it will be over soo … “Yeah, you think I’m frigging enjoying this?! I’m just as pissed off, now get in the friggin bath and let me do your hair so we can get it over and done with. NOW! You! Stop wriggling. You! Stop whinging You! Stop screaming! RAAAAAAARRRR!”
On a side note, nit and lice combs are aslo very good for gesturing with when saying “You!”