As I type these words, I am soaking. Not in the bathtub, not in the hot tub, not even in the warm glow of the spring sunshine. Nope, not this time.
I am, however, soaking my hair in apple cider vinegar, the most noxious of the pickling family. (And I might say that I’ve actually never seen my curls so bouncy.) But this is not a spa treatment, not something we thirty-somethings subject ourselves to as we notice changes to our aging bodies.
This is an intervention. I’ve been blessed with lots of hair and tonight, I have been given what I can only imagine is a gift from the six-year-old who said quite plainly to me this morning as I worked with her in reading: “Your hair looks crazy. No I mean really, really crazy.” Little did I know that tonight I’d be working her into my slice.
Slice – S = Lice. Slice of life – f +c = Slice of lice.
Fortunately for me, I have also been blessed with a husband who is racing home, armed with a metal comb and another gallon or two of the potent potion that is currently stinging my neck like a bad eighties perm. (Yes, I am old enough to have had several of those, the kind that took over a hundred rods to turn my hair into Ramon noodles)
As I type these words, I sit in the middle of the living room, touching nothing, waiting. Waiting for my knight with shining shampoo to rescue me.
That was two days ago, and I can say with clear confidence that it was just a false alarm. Though even as I reread these words, my head is itching. My teacher friends know the feeling, I’m sure. And now so will you! 🙂
I am participating in the 9th annual Slice of Life Challenge hosted by Two Writing Teachers.