Just so you know, before you start reading this post, you are going to itch. It’s inevitable. So, get out your itching powder or whatever it is that you need before you start reading.
My family recently went back to Washington for a couple weeks. We didn’t bring gifts, we brought something much better. My daughter was infected and she brought it to share with everyone in Washington. We don’t know how much longer it will be before she is a zombie. I expect when they come home, she will decide to bite me or infect me somehow. Seems zombies remember their favorite relatives and try to bite them first. So I will probably be last, but will be bit nonetheless. If that is the case, expect the content on this blog to change slightly.
Actually, she got lice. And it freaked her out. Not sure why bugs crawling in your hair would freak you out at all. They told me to look out for bugs in my hair, but then they asked, “Wait, what hair?” I think if lice like a nice deep hair style to imbed themselves with, then my hairs, or whatever is left of them, are just as good of a host as I am. In other words, not a good one at all.
She did share her plague with her two cousins, one which was getting married, and her future husband, because that is what you need to prepare for the week of your wedding, not cakes, flowers, and other wedding things.
Luckily, there is a comb that allows you to pick out the nits, or what they like to call a nitpicker. Insert obvious joke here for anyone in your life who likes to micromanage the nits in your life.
So my wife became the 007 to lice. She had a lice-ense to kill and she took her spy duties seriously. For 8 hours, she murdered lice and nit, after lice and nit. She chocked them, strangled them, drowned them in shampoo, and shot them with tiny lice bullets. For 8 hours, she destroyed lice town after lice town, leaving nothing in their wake. She even went into the big bosses hideout, left a big bomb in the hideout, and walked out Jane Bond style and watched as his hideout exploded in a fury of a fire and brimstone.
Luckily, she told me about every last deathtale, so I could itch in fear of all the things she was going to do to any of the lice that dared touch one of the hairs on my head. She told me that she was going to do a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse, and doghouse in the area. She was going to destroy on lice who dared to live or breathe on any piece of clothing, bedding, hard surface or soft surface in the house. No lice, bedbug, spider or nit would be left when she was finished. There is no Harrison Ford of the lice world. No negotiation, no escape, just instant death.
I’m pretty sure the entire population of lice is gone.
Either that or they have been nitpicked to death.
Bitter Get Ready to Itch Ben