Nit not wit

A few weeks ago my daughter and I became members of a very exclusive club: Those Who Have Had Nits. Actually, I'm not really justified in using the past tense in my case, as I've discovered it's very hard to clear them out of long, thick, curly hair. My daughter really hit the nit-picking jackpot when she inherited her father's fine, blond hair.

Interestingly, I have discovered that members of this club are amazingly casual about the beasties. I had to phone a bunch of people to let them know, in case our new friends had jumped ship on to any of their heads. Anyone with previous experience was amazingly blase: 'oh yeah, thanks, I'll whack some conditioner on their hair tonight and don't worry we're still friends'. It was the people who had never experienced Itchy and Scratchy who flipped: 'killer beasts? Aaah! We never want to see your nitty faces ever again'. As I suppose I would have done a few weeks ago.

Nits are not fatal. Not nice, but not fatal. I know that now. I'll wear my club membership badge with pride as I go back to the chemists for another foul-smelling cure.

7G1s - 2-3, darn! Beaten by the 7G2s from our own club. My own Soccer Boy scored both goals, although the second bounced off about four defenders on its way in, so not sure how much credit he can take for that one. I can't be too rude about the opposition this week, given that my son may one day end up on a team with one or more of them, but let me just say...there was blood and it wasn't coming from any of them.