Seeing Red

I got a message last night from my “niece,” (aka the daughter of my buddy Rik, aka “The Chairman of Fuck Off), asking me to be her “peer reviewer” for a writing class she’s taken.

I wrote about her before, in the post about going to visit The Chairman’s family, when she and her sister were wee.  It doesn't matter how grown up these girls get, my first image will always be of the little pixies I first encountered.

The “Gar-girls,” as their daddy called them.

Even though the redhead is a proud mother of two and the blonde one is an 18-year old high school senior, they’ll forever be my babies.  They always had a way of getting me to do whatever they wanted, so last night was no exception when Little Red asked me to review her papers for a night school class.

It wasn't really a stretch… I’d offered my writing help before, so I was honored to be asked.  Plus, I thought, can you really turn down a little red-haired girl?  I know I can’t.

After we discussed some of the details, (which included my telling her to button up because I wasn't going to go easy on her), the thought occurred to me that I should probably do a post about redheads.  I've had the subject on my mental To-Do List for ages, and this seemed to be a good jumping off point.

I never sought to collect a series of redheads in my life, but damned if they aren’t strewn about my past (and present).  They were there even before my redheaded buddy produced his redheaded daughter…

Redheads make up 2% of the American population, yet they represent 16.66% of my sex partners.  (No, Rik, I didn't have to consult a spreadsheet… just the list I made in your driveway 2 summers ago.)

It’s not like I slept with all the redheads I’ve dated; on the contrary, it’s only been a couple.  But the numbers don’t lie.  My percentage is way over a representative amount.

The first redhead who shook me up was a girl at my high school.  She didn’t have the classic orange-red hair; hers was a deep, rich auburn.  God, she was gorgeous.  Believe me, if I were to scan her picture out of our senior yearbook and post it, you’d know why she knocked me for a loop.  Chick was smokin’…

In chemistry class, she and her lab partner worked with me and my partner.  OK, it might have been more accurate to say that she and I did all the work, while our partners goofed off.  But I didn't care because I got to work with her!  She talked to me!  I talked to her!  Sometimes our hands brushed around the Bunsen Burner!  It was all a very big deal to me.  (I was quite the shy-boy back then, rather than the glib wordsmith you read before you today.)

I never dared ask her out; she was way out of my league (not just because she was hot, but because she ran with all the “cool” kids).  But she did let me drive her home from our National Honor Society induction night, when she needed a ride.  I was a nervous wreck, just having her in the car with me. 

To make matters worse, I got pulled over for having a taillight out on the back of the family Jeep Wagoneer.  I don’t think I brought my wallet with me either, (so not to mess up the lines of my safari jacket ensemble), so I was sweating bullets when I saw the cop behind me.  It was sweet when she offered to switch places with me.  I totally should have let her, just so her butt could rub across my lap.  Surprisingly enough, the cop never asked for my license, so I totally dodged the bullet.

I wonder if she ever knew how smitten I was.  I mean, after we graduated, the girl I actually did date in high school asked me, “You really admired [her name], didn't you?”  And here, I thought I was being subtle.  I never, EVER mentioned the auburn beauty to my girlfriend, nor did I ever stare or gawk.  I guess chicks just know these things.

The first redhead I actually dated was a neighbor who lived a couple doors down.  She was the traditional “Ralph Malph” redhead with fair skin, lots of freckles, flaming red-orange hair and a saucy attitude.  As I was becoming interested in her, her family moved out of the neighborhood before anything happened.  But then when I was in college, I ran into her at a local McDonalds, and we really seemed to hit it off.

I asked her out, and she accepted.  We went on one date, but at the end, she said she just couldn't imagine herself “making out with an old neighbor.” 

I was like, “Who said anything about making out?  It’s just a date…”

Of course I wanted to make out, but I couldn't say anything then, nor could I change her mind.  I don’t think I ever saw her again after that.

I've written before about my early college girlfriend, and how we were “off and on” for long periods.  During one of those “off” times, before we really got going, I started flirting with another saucy, orange-haired firecracker.

We ended up going out to dinner and ice skating.  Afterwards, we went back to her house.  Her dad was home, but he was in his basement work room, so we started fooling around.  A few moments later, she said “Come with me,” and led me by the hand toward the… bathroom!  So romantic…

Anyway, she sat me on the toilet, stood before me and just dropped trou.  Zzzzip!  I was like, “Damn, these redheads mean business…”

We didn't get very far though… mere moments later she thought she heard her father come upstairs, so we reassembled ourselves and bolted from the bathroom.  Alas, it was a false alarm, but the mood was killed.

After my relationship with my college girlfriend had run its course, the redhead and I got together again and finished what we had started in her bathroom.

Then in my junior year, I worked with a small group of people at the college radio station.  We’d guest on each other’s shows, do production work together, and conduct DJ training for the new radio wannabees.  We hung out a good bit at the bars, as well.  One of the group was another redhead.  Her hair was a darker shade between orange-red and my old deep-auburn crush, but she still had the light skin and freckles.

We were out one night, celebrating the end of spring semester and our last radio work for the term, and ended up slow dancing and then making out like crazed weasels.  It was too bad we started developing things so late in the school year… she was from the Cleveland area, so she’d be spending the summer 2 hours away from where I was in Toledo.  We wrote to each other throughout the summer and went out again the second she was back in town for Fall Semester. 

That night we ended up making out in the campus graveyard, for lack of anywhere else to go.  (I drove a little Honda Civic hatchback, which was of no use at all.)  We might have gone a little further, but suffice to say, I wasn't the only visitor she was having that evening.

It didn’t last, though.  The day classes started, I was thunderstruck by a new girl who I ended up dating and living with after I graduated.  (This was the “Fiancée” from my Bowling Green Apartment, the Aborted 3-Way and Summer of Bow Chicka Wow Wow stories.  I could probably count her as a redhead too, but that might be stretching it.  Her hair was a kind of strawberry blonde when we first met.  But counting her would take my percentage up to 25%.)

After college, there were no more redheads until Pinky, and that story is still unfolding, for six years running.

But like Pinky when she’s out in the sun, I’m keeping it under wraps.

It’s not like I was ever seeking out the redheads… for some reason, they just kind of ended up with me.  When I met Pinky via Match.com, she contacted me.  Maybe I have some quality that attracts redheads, like fiery moths to a dark and swarthy candle.

If I have a “type”, I guess I have tended to seek women that are the farthest from my own kind.  I have dark hair and brown eyes, and come from a family full of dark-haired, brown-eyed people.  What’s the farthest away from that?  Blondes and redheads.  I've dated a few girls with brown hair, but I don’t think I've ever dated a girl with black hair.  Well, maybe one, but she was a black girl, which is still pretty far from my background.  (And believe me, that’s a story in its own right.)

So what about you?  Do you go for a particular “type?”  Is there a “type” that tends to find you?  Do tell.