Laura and I had haircuts today. There was a happy dance.
Forty two days into the new year, the ghost of last year left.
We went to Ann’s for Christmas last year, and I came back to a busy, busy week closing the township books. But, I did slip in a haircut appointment for the two of us. Laura was barely in the chair when Mel called me over, and showed me a tango line of little white bumps along every part she’d made in Laura’s hair.
Mel is so young and so nice, and wasn’t sure this grandma knew the score, so she started out, “Don’t be ashamed. I’m a mother of a little girl, too. This happens all the time.” She wrote a brand name of a treatment on her card, told me to call her if I had any questions. As the door closed behind us, they were hurriedly wiping down all the places Laura had been.
We took the treatment at once. We combed and combed and combed. “Yetch,” Laura said. This is gross. We combed some more.
I sent Ann a text: “”Laura has head lice. Check Pat. They shared that hat. L”
Ann called me. “I checked that text twice to be sure it was dated December 31st. It is. I pronounce it the end to The Year From Hell. Don’t worry about Pat. He’ll take the cure with flea shampoo.”
Back home, we’d made some headway. But the school nurse said the little buggers had just retreated to the back of Laura’s head. We took the cure again. We washed bedding daily. No pass from the nurse. We combed some more. No pass from the nurse.
Laura texted me a business card from one of the nurse checks. Happy Heads 4 U. Guaranteed. Three trips to Happy Heads later, the nurse was happy. Laura was happy. Grandma was happy.
Mel put four inches of Laura’s split ends on the floor this afternoon.