Head lice: a love story

A lousecan’t jump, which is just fine!It can’t float on a breeze, lurkon a theater seat or loungehidden in our hotel sheets.It can’t bear to hang and chillon a cuddly toy, or lingeron a discarded blouse. Like us,a louse without a human head isa dear-departed, former, dead thing.But still they thrive.

The Englishsound of louse was ‘loose’back before the nastinessat Hastings and the plural ‘lice’is the result of a long lost umlautwhich used to sound a bit like ‘lease’.Our vowels have wandered outfrom under every louse and the waywe even count their number hasbeen discarded and displaced.Yet the common louse clingson, with its archaic name, andits stubborn non jump.

These parasiteshave resisted all eradicationattempts more sophisticatedthan huddling together and combingor picking their nits from each others’ furlike we’re still chimps. Lice haveevolved to survive our noxiousshampoos, cream rinses, andangrier poisons. But no louse has,so far, deigned to jump.

Becausewhat could be more humanthan the urge to hold anotherhuman so close that our hairs entwineso close that the front of yoursbecomes the back of mine. So close:this deficient pest can simply climba louse can’t jump, which is just fine!