Of Lice and Pen(s)

Image result for child scratching red hair lice clipartMy  children  are sufficiently removed in age now for me to smile (tentatively) about those horrific (and I do not use this term lightly), emotionally desperate cataclysms in my household when they had lice (whispering) … Just writing this elicits a visceral shudder, automatic head scratching and implicit feelings of remembered shame.

And yet almost all children at some time have fallen prey to these nasty little parasites. As we speak, some mother is expressing dismay with angry, Anglo-Saxon words and screaming for the other parent to sort ‘this disaster’ out, while blaming ‘that’ school or ‘those’ urchins with whom Little Princess has had the misfortune to be playing.

I know I did.

I shall always remember with dread that moment in the middle of the July holidays, in my small kitchen in Batten Bend when my 8-year-old daughter came in for a snuggle and I looked down at the teeming plain of wriggling larvae that was her once-beautiful head of red hair.

I confess I leaped away in horror.

Then I realised in one of those ooh-vrek-I’m-the-mother moments that it was my job to fix this invasion. So while privately (actually not so privately) cursing the mother who according to my infested child, sent her daughter who sat alongside mine, to school on break up day even though she had goggas in her hair because the family was moving house and she didn’t want her daughter to be underfoot, I assessed the unspeakable misery of my crisis:

  • One 7 year-old with an army on the move in her hair
  • Her 5 year-old brother with several nits in his
  • a 9 year-old son with curls so tight anything could have been living in there undercover of a silent incursion
  • a 2 year-old who couldn’t sit still long enough for me to examine her Annie ringlets and
  • a brand new baby.

And then I washed. Everything.

Over and over for at least three weeks, I de-loused everyone’s hair, twice a day, combing through all those thick tresses meticulously, trying hard not to show my disgust in case the victims of this family disaster were scarred for life by my assumed maternal rejection. My own hair proved to be a bit of a challenge because my squeamishness convinced me that I too was infected (I wasn’t) and the night I attempted to apply the shampoo, just in case, I ended up with an allergic reaction which caused burning in my eyes and on my face so bad that I had to ring my sister to come and stand in for me in the middle of the night so I could go to the emergency room.

And I washed and ironed ALL the bedding every day and forbade the children from reusing towels. Thank heavens this was pre-Cape Town’s water crisis, or perhaps this frantic laundering is what caused the depletion of Theewaterskloof Dam.

And then my long-awaited, lounge suite arrived (sixth months after returning to the country without furniture). And no one was allowed to sit on it, such was my aversion to the risk of loathsome re-infection. My girls’ buns were the tightest after that.

Of course by the time, the youngest was in Grade 1, and he and his fellow gangsters took turns in being off school with lice, I was fairly prosaic about such things, only shuddering occasionally. I sent him along fairly regularly to visit his father, who had hair clippers, for a #1, although I suspect that it was the girlfriend in situ who ended up doing the trimming. We still chuckle at certain photographs and can tell by Liam’s haircuts what had been going on at the time.

Primary School and Nursery School teachers do not bat an eye at what for high school staff is worse that diving with sharks – the lice test! they nonchalantly pick up two pens and confidently check their charges’ hair on a regular basis. The biggest problem schools have is parents’ assumption that one shampoo and combing will cure you of the nasty critters. You have to remember to do it again every week or so after an infestation or else the ‘cooties’ return. Our standard letter takes care to address the embarrassment that comes with the unwelcome missive and gently advises how to remedy the detestable situation, without making parents feel bad.

It’s the social stigma associated with having lice that is bothersome though. The fact that lice love clean hair should have removed such thoughts, but I suppose we feel unkempt and dirty and somehow ashamed that this could have happened to us – we’re decent folk after all. However, I bet that even those hoity toity playschools for the rich and famous have a lice policy. Even someone called Beckham or Windsor might have to be sent home from a posh school to do not nit harvesting from time to time. Forget that knighthood, darling, if your offspring infects a royal head, mind you.Image result for shame meme

Funny how language evolves: take the word ‘lousy’ – it comes of course from the meaning ‘lice-infested’ – perhaps we should remember that when we say our meal or the service at a restaurant was ‘lousy’ – perish that thought!

Next time you say that the weather has turned ‘lousy,’ thank your lucky stars it actually hasn’t. Eeeuh! The thought of that makes me need to go and scratch my head a little and thank the Lord for metaphors.

These are a few of my [least] fav’rite things:

Just in case I am ever interviewed as a celeb on a TV show and asked that lovely banal question of ‘What are you pet hates?’ here they are, with apologies to Rodgers and Hammerstein:

Jik spills on pant suits and dog hairs on black coats

Bright lights when sleeping and smug winners who gloat

Gym folk who nick the disabled parking

These are a few of my least fav’rite things.

Underwired bras which break loose and poke in you

Muzak and payback and too-tight cute shoes

Teens who ignore the damn phone when it rings

These are a few of my least fav’rite things.

Girls who’re exploited and folk who spread hatred

Drone strikes and jeeps which are vanity plated.

Smart cars and mutton all dressed up with bling

These are a few of my least fav’rite things.

When the zip splits; when the nail breaks

These both make me sad

I simply remind myself Bieber can’t sing

And then I don’t feel so bad.

Taxes and lying and naked ambition

Maintenance arrears and bad punctuation

Gangsta low trousers and fat pinky rings

These are a few of my least fav’rite things.

Petrol price increases; school terms that drag

Too many wrinkles and buttocks which sag

Drug dealers peddling their filth at the swings

These are a few of my least fav’rite things.

Internet hanging and cold feet in my bed.

Nobody listening to what I just said

Seeing my children’s first break-ups begin

These are a few of my least fav’rite things.

When the car quits, when the bug jumps

When my darlin’s mood’s bad,

I simply remember the US has Trump

And then I don’t feel so mad!

I’ve got a little list – with apologies to Messers Gilbert and Sullivan

My husband recently treated Lizzy and me to The Mikado at Artscapes Theatre. My father was in the 1968 production and we still have the vinyl record of that somewhere. I thoroughly enjoyed re-living the sounds of my childhood in songs we sang so often. What struck me though was the delightful satire Gilbert’s words provide, which was enhanced by the absurd costumes (a carrot outfit for Poo- Bah, and a hatchet hat for Ko-Ko to name a couple).

Since some of Ko-Ko’s lines in this ditty are fairly dated and un-pc,there is a tradition of altering them to suit local conditions in some productions. I have taken the liberty of doing the same for my own personal list for the Lord High Executioner,  a difficult task given Sir Gilbert’s eccentric metre at times.

I’ve got a little list

As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,

I’ve got a little list – I’ve got a little list

Of society’s offenders who might well be underground,

And who never would be missed – who never would be missed.

There’s the pestilential nuisances who don’t strap in their kids

All people who use Tupperware and lose the plastic lids

All technos who sit on their smartphones – that really is quite rude

And let me not begin to rant re Instagramming food.

They’d none of ‘em be missed – they’d none of ‘em be missed.


Chorus: She’s got ‘em on the list – she’s got ‘em on the list;

And they’ll none of ‘em be missed – they’ll none of ‘em be missed.


There’s the jock who tells those  kinds of jokes, yet says he’s not racist,

And the talk show egotist – I’ve got him on the list!

And the irksome lot who slurp their meals and the priest misogynists

They never would be missed – they never would be missed!

There’s the ex-pat who now lives in Perth, but still would like to moan;

Sales execs who business- speak and Americanize their tone;

The politicians, poachers and callous industrialists

‘Number One’s’ apologists and those who’d merely slap his wrists

And hipster bushy beards on my sons that I then have to kiss –

I don’t think they’ll be missed – I’m sure they’ll not be missed!


Chorus: She’s got them on the list – she’s got them on the list;

And I don’t think they’ll be missed – I’m sure they’ll not be missed!


And that local dunce who just dug up half the road to Cape Town

To bug the motorists – I’ve got his name on the list!

And the men who won’t pay maintenance, and reds who can’t pipe down

They’d none of ‘em be missed – they’d none of ‘em be missed.

Hypocrites and back-stabbers, power-hungry seekers of fame

Liars and deceivers who delight in portioning out the blame ,

Sychophants and fanaticists of each and every clime

Those who swear they care for others, yet never make the time.

But it doesn’t really matter whom you put upon the list,

For they’d none of ‘em be missed – they’d none of ‘em be missed!

You may put them on the list – you may put them on the list;

And they’ll none of ‘em be missed – they’ll none of ‘em be missed!


PS: But not the Maestro-organist – I took him off the list

He really would be missed! He really would be missed.