ghetto fabu-lice

Yesterday I took an hour long nap in South Central Los Angeles in the middle of the day. In my car. On the street. In front of a middle school. It was awesome. I am so fucking badass.

When I got home, Miriam embraced me and exclaimed, "You know what?! It's been a whole year since you've gotten lice!!!"

If you don't already know, getting lice is just about the opposite from being a true badass. Getting lice sucks. I should know. I got lice TWICE last year. TWO WHOLE TIMES. Even though getting lice is somewhat out of your control, just like the hiccups and bad taste, it is still rather dehumanizing. I guess that's what you get when you work with dirty, smelly, little kids.

Next year my kids will be just as dirty and smelly, only with less money. They won't be able to afford Hair Fairies or what-have-you. I'm hoping and praying that I won't get lice again next year. I'd like to believe that my future students will be fierce and strong from their inner city experiences that lice won't even dare to come near them. What louse would want to inhabit the head of a kindergartener who remarked after his class came up with a name for a fictional character, "Kimberly? That's the name of my brother's parole officer!"