It happened all the time. The park. The grocery store. In line at the bank. Perfect strangers petting my head and telling me all about the one person in their life/neighbourhood/AA group who was JUST LIKE ME.
I hated it. The attention and the touching and the stories about people I didn’t care about and would never meet. I was tired of nodding politely. And I REALLY couldn’t stand that inevitable question that made absolutely no sense to me:
“Where did you get such beautiful red hair?”
At some point during my preschool years I perfected the snotty answer.Snort of disgust. Curl of the lip. Delivered in a what-kind-of-idiot-are-you-anyway tone.
“GOD gave it to me.”
As much time as I spent as a child wishing I had wavy brown hair down to my knees like Crystal Gayle, or blond hair and a tan like Barbie, or best of all, dark raven tresses just like Diana Barry – as an adult, it’s one of the things I like most about myself. Finally old enough to dye it away like I always wanted, and I never will (highlights don’t count mom).
And if I occasionally find myself petting some strange child in the supermarket and gushing over their beautiful red hair… well, I’ve earned it.
So here’s me, with a head full of impossible, thick, frizzy hair my stylist nicknamed “The Beast”, but I still like it.
Today I took part in Five Minute Friday at lisajobaker.com
September 6th, 2013 at 2:14 pm
I do love me a red headed woman!
September 8th, 2013 at 12:12 pm
The feeling’s entirely mutual!
September 9th, 2013 at 5:59 am
Reblogged this on agustinus robby.