shine on, ginger

I have red hair, and it took me 22 years to realize it.

To be honest, I've never really liked my hair color. In fact, I constantly forget that I even have red hair until somebody mentions something. Some people (a select few), love my red hair. They think it's unique and a nice shade of ginger, especially my mom. I can still remember the disappointed look on her face when I chopped it all off for the first time a few years ago.

There was even a period last year where I dyed my hair brown to cover up the ginger-love. I originally colored my hair to match my fake moustaches, but decided to keep it up, probably because I got tired of hearing about it.

Although, I have recently come to not only the conclusion that I have red hair, but that I actually like my hair. Should I repeat that? I LIKE MY RED HAIR! BOOYEAH!
I guess I've just decided to embrace my genetics, because that's all I'll be for the rest of my days. I've even started cracking jokes about ginger-ism, kind of like how black people bring up slavery jokes every once in a while, except mine are usually about the sun.
I do consider myself a fortunate red head though. Why?
Because I didn't really get any of the downsides to being a ginger cunt. Such as:

a) I can probably tan better than you, and I rarely burn.
b) I don't get a lot of freckles, which I'm bummed about
c) My body hair is blond, and nothing like my red head
d) I don't bruise easily, which is apparently a genetic default for those with red hair
e) I probably won't have red headed children either, considering that I am the only one in my family

So, there you have it. A first-hand proclamation on my new found pride into the world of gingers. So crack all the jokes you'd like Matt Stone, because for the first time I'll actually laugh with you, because I really don't care anymore. Shine on, you crazy ginger.

Photo credits: top - Kathleen, bottom - Darcy