The inevitable happened yesterday. I spent the day helping with a house move and spent the day scratching my increasingly itchy scalp. I thought this was just a result of the dust rising from moving furniture so didn’t think anything of it until I returned home to find MrM watching TV with a beer in his hand.
Asking about his day, he told me about work, about picking up the McBaby from nursery and at number 4 on the running order, “Oh one of the ladies at nursery thought she saw a nit on McBaby’s head”. Sip of beer.
I stared at him. “And what have you done about it?” I shrieked.
“Well, I didn’t think it was that bad.”
I huffed, ranted and waved my arms around. “You enjoy your beer; I’ll go and get some special shampoo.”
MrM reluctantly agreed to go and get the special comb and the shampoo so that I could scratch my head. About two hours later, we were all back and treating ourselves with the shampoo and a nit comb. We hated this proportionately in decreasing order of age.
We’re all in the clear today, hugely embarrassed and eager to get haircuts. So, if you’ve seen me in the last couple of weeks, it might be worth getting someone to check your hair. Hangs head (and hair) in shame….