Is there anything, but anything, more likely to guarantee disaster than a knitter declaring to the blogosphere that she is mere rows from the end of a project???
Scant minutes after my bold declaration of imminent completion, when I was still grappling with correcting the dimensions of my new second-hand dressform in order to ensure equal sleeve-lengths, my son entered the room and requested an examination of his head due to itchiness. With sinking heart I foresaw the end of my carefree afternoon, and went out into the brilliant sunlight with him to confirm the Awful Truth.
Still small and scarce, but quantity makes little difference to the amount of washing required.
Thus the rest of my afternoon was spent putting linen and rugs and hats through the wash, and hanging them out, and bringing in that which had dried before the sun went down, and massaging lice-killer through son’s hair, and inspecting girls’ heads, and deciding to give them a conditioner-soaking just-in-case, and making son’s bed with fresh sheets and pillowcases and blankets….
With all that before me, and a scalp that was crawling in sympathy, I decided that I needed to henna my hair. Thus I crackled – and occasionally dripped – my way through my chores with my hair plastered in a greenish mud concoction and cocooned in cling wrap. I am just waiting for the last child to be in bed so that I can enjoy cleaning all the gunk off my hair without an inquisitive audience. I am fairly sure that 4 hours of henna would discourage the average louse.
And tomorrow I have to inform Vacation Care that my son acquired nits while participating in their program – whilst fully cognisant of the irony of it being The Last Day.
Bring on Glass of Red Wine #2.