Creepy-crawly, teensy-weensy, itty-bitty bugs —

live on my head.

Everyone knows that satisfied feeling after a warm, relaxing shower, when all seems right in the world and the bathroom is a fog of floral scents. Well, if not everyone, every female.

I had just showered and was in that cheerful mood when I found a nit in my hair. – In England, if you see something whitish in your hair, always check. There’s a good chance it’s not dandruff. – The creepiest thing about finding evidence of headlice is the thought that these bugs have been living on your head for a while without you knowing. This disturbing thought flashed through my brain, then I burst out of the bathroom, nit-hair between two fingers, and announced, “L—-, I have lice. You probably do too. Wanna see a nit?”

The look of utter disgust on her face was striking. I myself, having had lice a couple times during my last sojourn in England, was not particularly bothered by this discovery. I checked through her hair. Fortunately I found no lice or nits. L—- does not have lice. My mom had sent neem oil, a lice deterrent, with me after grimly predicting I would catch headlice. I slathered it liberally through my hair.

Then L—- and I ran downstairs to console ourselves with cookies.

“You smell disgusting,” said L—-.

Silence. I was eating a cookie.

“Like peanuts and vodka and chewing gum all mixed.”

“It’s the neem oil. I promise I’m hygienic,” I replied, finishing the cookie. “Oh my goodness, if I go out tomorrow, everyone will be like – you stink. But they won’t because they’re British. Everyone will just tactfully avoid me. A large bubble of personal space; that’s what I’ll have. It’ll be useful in the lunch line, though, won’t it?”

We started laughing madly and spewing crumbs. For some reason I was tremendously humorous that evening. L—- was affected too. I suppose it was late. Perhaps it was what people call hysterics.

“Lice! It’s so eeugh!” exclaimed L—-, shivering.

“It’s really just a mild annoyance,” I said.

“A MILD ANNOYANCE!” said L—-.

But really, lice don’t hurt you. All they do is quietly live on your head, sucking blood and laying eggs. The only real downside is the itchiness they can cause, and the yuck factor. I suppose the yuck factor is what gets most people.

L—- sat down at the counter and started eating grapes and fake crying. I was just randomly laughing and sipping tea. Then L—- started hitting a melon with a hairbrush.

For some reason, I found it had to stop. “Stop hitting it! The poor melon never did you any harm!”

L—- stopped.

“Good thing it doesn’t have nerve endings,” I mused.

Then she burst out laughing and resumed hitting it while singing “Oh, Where is my Hairbrush.”

I picked up the melon. “But Melon, you don’t even need a hairbrush. You don’t have any hair.”

Then we just about died of laughter at our own weirdness and ran upstairs and ate some chocolate. I called my mom and found out what I should do about the headlice and went to bed.

This morning I got up, pulled on clothing, and ran down to the pharmacy down the street to get medication and a lice comb.

The process of eliminating lice is long and annoying. You must wash all the hats, scarves and coats you have come into contact with as well as your clothing and bed linens. Using a vacuum, you must clean the carpets and the beds themselves. Anything that cannot be washed or vacuumed that your head may possibly have come into contact with must be stored in trash bags for a week or two. Lice spread easily with the speed of a chain reaction.

I’ve combed out countless nits and some lice from my hair and medicated it, so hopefully this ordeal will soon be over.

Wish me luck!

Farewell. Farewell. If any lice are still living on my head, they wish you farewell too. Farewell.