Except, oh wait. That's what I spent all day doing. Picking nits off a child's head. And the worst part, aside from their nightmarish grossness, is not knowing whether you got it all. What will the school nurse say tomorrow. Will we spend another day futilely combing section after section of hair, holding it up to the sunlight or the flashlight depending, seeking microscopic specks and attempting to dislodge them?
Just, ugh.
And don't even get me started on my own Paranoid Itching. I nearly doused my own head with the disgusto-shampoo jic, but then it seemed gratuitous, like I should wait and see. Rather than burning off my scalp for maybe no reason.
So anyway. I am zonked. Having a slight pity-party over missing bells practice. Mourning the apparent, inexplicable breakup of The Civil Wars. Celebrating my counted vote. (Hurrah!) It's all very exhausting.
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