If you want to capture someone's attention, walk into Target and ask the clerk, "On what aisle would I find products to kill..." then whisper the rest in her ear. Ten people will follow you around the store.
With a squirt of conditioner and swipe of a fine-toothed comb she declared, "He's got it. And it looks like he's got it bad." And so it was that our collective Christmas cheer went up the chimney faster than old St. Nick.
No, we are not festering beneath a pile of bugs at the present moment. In fact, the LiceEnders ladies came to my kids' public school yesterday and did not find lice on my children, just a week after we found them. But oh, what a week it has been.
The case of red wine is the most obvious item. It will gently soothe you as you handle the immense guilt that comes with realizing you and your family members are dirty, foul sloths who should be ashamed of yourselves for having kids in the first place.
Knowing nothing about lice and not having time to look up any facts, I decided that the most efficient way to tackle this plague was to do all the cleaning, washing, vacuuming and nitpicking simultaneously -- or one lousy louse could start the whole cycle again.
It hath come to pass that a plague hath beset the Colleary family whereupon we were ravaged by lice. No, they were not any of the particular louses that Shannon hath, in the past, lain with like the Whore of Babylon.
The school nurse caught some hair in a comb and the two of us leaned in, peering into the numberless strands. Our faces were side by side, within kissing distance. I had not been this close to another grown up for a whole year. It was intimate and weird.