What Is It With Being Red?

First of all, I made it to Wednesday.

The sun is shining.
I have on no jacket or hoodie or other fleecy garment.
My swing still swings.
I feel 500% better just stepping out the door.
Even the cat is pleased.
And I am no way bragging or otherwise rubbing in to my northern, snowbound friends.


Believe me, I will celebrate with you the first day you sit in the sunshine. It's just that good.

Secondly, what's the fascination with red hair?

I grew up with all the jokes. I've heard all the come-on lines. My daughter teases me that I'm an "old man" magnet. There's more truth to that than I care to admit.

But seriously, does it ever stop? I wonder if my red-headed grandma put up with the same nonsense. I'm sure she did. She was a good looking woman.

I thought I had heard everything until last night. While paying our bill at our favorite dive-of-a-place-but-great-food Chinese restaurant, the old guy... the same one who is always there and always takes our money and always jokes around with my husband even though we can't understand him half the time... the same guy says he likes my hair.

Okay. No harm done.
Then he adds something that has got to be a neighbor to creepy,

Can I cut off some and carry it in my pocket?

And he's not smiling like he usually is.
I think he's totally serious.
So I look at my husband.

My bald-headed, goatee-wearing, extremely good-looking husband who can take a man down with an unblinking I'm gonna kick your a** (sorry, kids!) stare kind of man.

Who is now giving that infamous stare to the little old Chinese man and shaking his head,

No, you're not gonna do that.

The man walks away.
We leave.
And I'm slightly disturbed.

So now I think I've heard it all.
Then again, I've thought that before.

Did I mention the sunshine feels good?