LICE, the UNTOLD STORY

Nary can a girl with long hair or curly hair or curly, long hair deny that during their stay in elementary school that they did not undergo the inspection with chop sticks in the nurse’s office only to be told that you had a case of lice. A parent was called. A trip to the pharmacy was made for the requisite metal comb to brush as well as its companion, RID. 47 loads of laundry later, 13 thorough washes of the hair and VERY painful comb-thrus resulted in yet another case of lice just a few weeks later because the one person in your class’s mother neglected to wash every pillowcase, sheet or blanket her body came in contact with. (That is my memory, possibly yours too).

UGH! The epidemic of LICE is worse than chicken pox or even a stomach virus, if you ask me. I mean, the “cure” is so time- consuming and the thought of bugs crawling around in your scalp is enough to suggest an itch. I have always worked with kids, whether at a day camp or a day care center. I managed to avoid lice as an adult until I worked at nursery school. Here is my untold story.

Picture it: A Friday, during the summer of 1999. I am excited for the day to end so that I can head down to the village to some restaurant or another with my then boyfriend. A birthday party is planned for one of the four year olds, complete with balloons and cupcakes. A festive feeling is in the air.

END OF FESTIVE FEELINGS

The four year old teacher noticed one of the boys furiously scratching his head much of the day. I cannot recall his name, but he wore glasses and had shaggy, blonde hair. His single mother owned and worked a dirty water dog push cart. She was a hot mess but not because she sold hot dogs on the city streets. She was just a hot mess. Our school did not have a nurse, so Drusilla, the infant “teacher”, was in charge of lice checks. Out came the wooden chop sticks, rubber gloves, and magnifying glass. Out came the shrieks. “OH MY GOD! HIS HAIR IS MOVING!!!”; said Manny, Drusilla’s son, who happened to be assisting that day. Sure enough, this boy was having an open house for lice only on his scalp. There were nits (eggs) and live ones dancing around his head. According to Google health, treatment for lice is needed even if only one egg is found, which clearly makes sense as eggs hatch. Seeing as this kid was sporting an epidemic proportion case of lice, the entire school was beckoned to Drusilla for further inspection. At this point, I decided I might as well get checked out too. Good call, because who else had lice??? Yup. Upon hearing my prognosis, I start bawling. I am so disgusted and I have plans to go out. How does one tell their boyfriend they have bugs living on their head??? Since NYC has a Starbucks and a Duane Reade on every corner, I marched myself over and purchased the scary comb and RID. The level of embarrassment and discomfort I experienced during the purchase is best equated to buying any number of other “embarrassing” products for the first time; tampons, condoms, pregnancy tests…. I felt as though everyone in Duane Reade was staring at me as though I were the carrier of the next Bubonic Plague. Fortunately for me, there as a small shower in my classroom. Why, I do not know, but thank the lord! So, I showered and washed and combed my hair 37 times and dried off with paper towels (It was a school, not the Four Seasons). I was Lice free!!! I called my mother to tell her to wash my sheets, etc, as I was still living at home.

This story was one that was repeated throughout my tenure at this nursery school. My favorite version was told by Jordan, who said; “Remember that time you was crying when you had bugs in your hair?”

But this story was retold years later, only on a rooftop bar on a warm summer night in Manhattan. This time, I was with a new boyfriend (now husband) and meeting some of his friends for the first time. Everyone was gathered for his buddy Felber’s birthday. Felber is awesome; like a good shot of tequila, he immediately put my nerves at ease. I felt like I had known him forever and he treated me as such. Perhaps my comfort level was a bit too high, or perhaps I had consumed too many Sapphire’ and Seven, but I proceed to recount this tale of nursery school woe to him. Felber is so entertained by this story, that he screams out “LICE!” Remember, we are on a NYC rooftop. Felber is 6’5 with a booming baritone voice so it sounds more like “LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEE! LLLLLLLLIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCEEEEEEE! LLLLLLLIIIIIICCCCCCEEE!LLLLLLIIIIICCCCCCCEEEEEEE!...... You get the point. And guess what Felber calls me now? LICE-A.

Why this story, NOW? The other day, as I am chatting up my friend Al at work, he picked something out of my hair. When I asked what it was, he said “some lice.” Seriously, Al, you will understand why I did not think you were very funny.