January 22, 2015 - 8:31 AM
I occasionally have momentary weaknesses for human contact and at this moment, the subject before me was one of those sub-human forms, a chance encounter with a neighbour child from the local school.
I don’t recall how it began but for me it seemed to end after about 15 seconds because he chose to speak to this complete stranger about, of all things—head lice.
“Just about every kid in school has lice,” he said. "Isn’t that cool?”
I’m certain I remained looking at him, his mouth moving with speech but for me time stood still as fear took over my body, my mind searching for recall of how far lice may jump.
I wandered off—he’s probably still standing there talking about head lice—and my panic took me directly to a packed walk-in clinic.
All here about the plague, I presumed.
“I really don’t think you have lice,” the doctor said. “Get a friend or family member to check for you if you want to be sure.”
Exactly what kind of friend searches for vermin living in another’s hair, he wouldn’t say. But I knew they were there, crawling, sucking, making little lice babies, establishing a civilization under the tall stands of me.
So off I went to Target, the go-to place for purchase of haemorrhoid pillows, fungal remedies and adult diapers. You know, the place where you could buy such necessities without anyone—ANYONE—seeing you.
I searched the boxes of lice-aid until I found the right one. Something about "over-use burning the scalp.”
Perfect. Scorched earth. If it destroys skin, surely it would obliterate any other form of pestilence or contagion common among school children.
I’ve since learned the Target stores are closing, which is a shame. I’m not sure the skin on my head and, er, other areas, will heal in time for me to stock up on more head poison. Or hair-nets to donate to the local schools.
— The Grumpy Old Git would like to thank the grumpy old git, but this isn't really the place for that.
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