Industrial toe nail clippers are ready. Veet hair removal cream stands staring at me, ready to attack the forest of doom and those little crevices that is home to the nest of curliness. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat senses we are going away. Her deep stench morning purr has been accompanied by a 360 degree turn unto which she places her ass on my torso and rubs. I feel abused and brush her off roughly. Carolyn snores rhythmically, deeply, and wetly. – I have no witness.
On Tuesday she (Misty) vomits on my duvet, on my pillow and on the carpet.
On Wednesday the girls are over excited, each day they ask the same question. How many sleeps to go. I tell them. They don’t fecking understand, so they ask again, and again. For Fucks Sake – we go on ruddy Sunday. Today it is ruddy Wednesday. Hold out your ruddy fingers and ruddy count. (I say this coldly in my head).
On Thursday evening I discover the lice. Crawling in their hair. The screams could be heard in Reading as I run the metal lice comb through their red locks trying to comb out the little feckers. Glass in one hand, comb in the other, I ran the metal combs down every strand. Sweat pouring down my cheeks, Misty rubbing her ass along my ankles, and the girls sobbing.
At around 9pm I start to itch. Holy Fuck, I have an appointment with Marc Antoni hairdressers at 09.30am on Friday – surely not?
At 10pm I was pouring the left over lice shampoo into my hair. It stunk. I cursed the metal comb and groaned as I pulled it through my thick hair, in the hope it would reveal dead lice. It revealed hair, lots of it. I combed and combed until my scalp hurt. Please God don’t let me have lice.
I turned in at 11pm. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat was already curled up next to Carolyn’s head. I purposely jumped in and slammed my head on my pillow – Misty flew up and meowed angrily. Carolyn grunted and then nothing.
I could feel a pointy finger on my head at 6am, followed by the sound of slurping and children’s television. Hurrah – my day has fecking started! My head hurt, my hair stunk, and my stomach felt odd. Misty trotted in and jumped on the bed, with a glint in her eye she jumped onto my shoulder and meow purred into my face. The smell of Gourmet Duck in Jelly hit my nostrils like a hammer and I retched as I pushed her away.
As I sat in Marc Antoni my stomach was not good. It was one of those, do I need a number two or a good fart moment. I did not risk either. My head still hurt and my scalp itched. Please Please don’t let ‘skinny Nikki with the dodgy eyebrows’ find lice. My head thumped, as did my bottom,.
The coffee sent my stomach into spasms and as I had a long wait for my colour I asked where the toilets were. They’ve had work done to the salon and I assumed they had new toilets built. Alas not, it was the same small windowless toilet situated smack bang in the middle of the ruddy salon.
As we call it in our family, I POP POPPED for England. No window. No matchsticks. No air freshener. I jumped from leg to leg – what to do, how I can camouflage this most disgusting smell. Somebody tried the door and I gasped. I did what I’ve not one since I was a kid in school – I began to waft the smell away – I looked like Kate Bush dancing to Wuthering ruddy Heights. In desperation I covered my hands in liquid soap and then put on the hand dryer in the hope the dryer would waft the smell of soap around this small room. I legged it. Head held down. Florid. To my seat and did not look up until I was done.
Job done. And no nits (to my knowledge).
So we leave on Sunday – our annual trip to sunny Spain where I sip my cool beer and swim in the pool of piss. The POP as I call it is the children’s pool – where I have to stand idly and make small talk to Mothers about their kids. I hate the Pool of Piss, I have no time for small talk, and I rarely like other children apart from those I know. And to top it all, I hate having to see my own belly protruding over my antique bikini bottom. But on the bright side, the POP is very close to the beach bar, when one can get a chilled beer.
Only 2 sleeps to go
Adios.
myfamilyandothermillers 