I was still tidying the courtyard, and laying some slasto in positions where it will be later persuaded to remain, when an emergency presented itself. The grandgirls had both managed to get chewing gum in their hair. R (8) promptly had hers dealt with by an irate scissor-wielding mother. I didn’t want to see the same done for J (5) as, to my mind, she has already had too many haircuts. So I forbade scissors anywhere near her while speculating wildly as to what would melt chewing gum.
‘Ah,’ said young R brightly. ‘Let me google it.’ In no time at all she had swiped her mother’s phone (without permission) and reappeared waving it and announcing triumphantly, ‘Look, you use creamy peanut butter or olive oil.’
I am simply amazed at how quickly she got into Google and inserted the right key words for the desired response. (Mind you, come to think of it, I was actually flying an aircraft at her age …)
Anyway, I subjected the stuck hair to oil, and was then able to comb the gum out. Pity R didn’t get the solution in time to save some of her own hair from being sacrificed.
I still haven’t arrived at an explanation as to how both got the stuff in their hair. Actually, I don’t think I want to go there.
Here is the courtyard in the condition in which it was when our guests arrived for the evening braai (barbecue). I wish I had taken a picture of the wall-to wall rubble in evidence there earlier this week.