There’s something dehumanizing about head lice. Perhaps it’s the throwback to an image of primates picking microscopic grossities off each other at the zoo? Maybe it’s the idea of having stuff in your hair that’s scratching at your skull and feeding on your brain matter.
The more intelligent you are, the worse your possible case of nits, I reckon. More blood to that organ up there, lots more to suckle out and nurture little eggs and grow wee parasites that are gonna lurk around your scalp at night and slurp.
There’s something inevitable about ‘the’ menopause. Especially if you’re a gal. Imagine! For all those years — the majority of your hot-blooded, oestrogen-speared teens, twenties and thirties — you’re driven by cycles, ovulation, procreation, moisture, erotic dampness, tree-felling ripeness, take-me-now neediness.
Over a group dinner a few years ago, an old school friend said ‘a funny person is always sexy.’
Naturally, I blushed. We were surrounded by the old gals from St Vatican’s and conversation was flying. Menus hadn’t been touched, no one was bothered with preliminaries of ‘weather’s been nice,’ or ‘have you been watching the Games?’
It was straight into discourse about issues, events, opinions, decisions.
That’s fine, but when Frannie made her decree about funny people being sexy, I thought she was referring to me. I started to preen. And think up an array of jokes or expressions.




