Monday 19 June 2017

Why am I not a redhead?

I think I could take it if I was a redhead. The summer, I mean, and the heat. I have trouble with heat (and also shaving cuts) because simmering on the top of the genetic soup that is me, floating on top of the deep layers of Misc. Immigrant, is a great big gelatinous film of Classic English Redhead from my mother's side of the family.

Do I get to be one? No. I don't get the alabaster skin and the cute freckles and the hair like beaten copper. No, I just get to spend every summer one patch of shade away from heatstroke and clutching a paper towel to my face for forty-five minutes after every slightly too emphatic stroke of the razor.

So, here I sit on Sunday evening, determined to hit my goal of posting something every day to keep the creative juices flowing, except I'm too consumed by the horrible prickly sensation of so much sweat even after the fourth shower of the day that I can't think of anything to write except this self-indulgent twaddle.

Its not that I think I'm bad looking. I don't particularly mind my body or my appearance other than the nose. Its just that, well, redheads are basically universally gorgeous and that could have been me!

I strongly suspect I post something like this every summer but I am too sweaty to check. 

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