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.
All of a sudden, an ‘endgame’ bell goes off in your ovaries. Everything shrivels, getting withered and smaller even though bloat ensues. There’s more heat than ever before, but it doesn’t make you horny as much as ornery. You carry Teena instead of Tampons, spare undies instead of ‘get lucky lingerie’, panty liners instead of full-blown surfboards. And yeah, it might be grand to say FARE-BLOODY-WELL to the menstrual cycle, but then it can revisit, sure as ever … one year in absentia … OH, hey-lo, I’m baaaaaack.
There’s something illuminating about a regular colonoscopy. Apparently the procedure sheds some light where the sun don’t shine and aerates a tunnel that gets as much action as the one between Jolimont and West Richmond. Grand. The camera chugs along in there, lets out a bit o’ steam, diesels into the descending colon, toots when it anticipates a shitful collision, then rounds the bend to ‘I think I can I think I can …’
Do I sound jaded? It’s just a friend of mine has had a gut full this week. She’s scratching her head about how she might have picked up lice, is fallopian about the reappearance of her raggiest red letter, and is anticipating a colonoscopy like a pile of dung on her doorstep.
It’s all part of being a womb-an. Oh, and she’s the grumpiest mothercutter this side of perimenopause. If you see my friend in the street, give her a HUG.
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4 Responses to Nits, Nuts and A Nus
*HUGS YOU* xoxoxo
It’s terrible to out Chicken as a headlice sufferer in the blog, innit? I’ll pass your hug along to her, lady *g* x0
Rosie recently posted..How to recognize a Grandmonster
Tell that poor woman that I sympathise greatly……….just from a distance xxxxxxxxxxx
Oh, Boo-freaking HOO. You sympathise from a DISTANCE. GET out the nit comb and help that poor woman! What type of person are you.
Hey you. How’s your important, academic blogging going? Thanks for joining us over here. Love xxxx
Rosie recently posted..Siri and Me