Friends, readers, other more legitimate columnists, lend me your ears; a new age is upon us. An age null of the token ginger comrade, null of the beaten redheaded stepchild and null of infamous fire crotch.
It has been suggested that due to the recessive nature of the redhead gene within the next 100 years redheads will, for the first time, earn an exclusive spot…wait, calm yourselves firecrackers, don’t get too excited yet…as an endangered being and possibly even be complaining their way to total extinction. However, other scientists do say the extinction theory is not sufficiently supported, asserting that the gene is rare now, but will most likely resurface again in the near future. Regardless, do not be distraught. Redheads are not idly sitting by, they are preparing! But, will this new breed of ginger be the ginger we all knew and abused? Negative! They have responded by consolidating forces.
Gone are the years of lonely freckled freaks solemnly playing connect-the-dots on their forearms. Faded are the rashes from their hypersensitive skin, procured while desperately tailing classmates through the woods. They have banned together and are robbing us of our favorite anger management tool.
I have been observing this trend for a while now, and the change is astounding. Gingers are much more confident, assertive and well adapted to society. The Red Americans are no longer one per group; no my friends these pink skinned minority members are seeking shade in groups! This all became starkly real to me on the eve of my brothers 13th birthday.
Now, I was birthed into a family of pseudo-gingers, or more commonly known as day-walkers. But, being a pseudo ginger is kind of like being biracial, we are forced to identify with the side of most grievance. So for all of you with hair ablaze do not be offended by my words: I feel your pain – middle school P.E. was rough for me too – and at least I had half of a soul.
Anyways, I was meeting our ginger clan at Applebee’s for my brother’s birthday dinner. My brother was bringing two of his friends that I had not had the privilege of meeting yet. Due to his record of attracting ethnically diverse, therefore equally discriminated against companions, I crossed my fingers that his affirmative action approach to friending would lead us to have a Brangelina like family affair. But, my god, I could not have been more wrong.
The way I imagine how midgets get excited about platform shoes is how I feel about birthdays. I came bounding into the restaurant with the perfect gift for a thirteen-year-old boy in the middle of suburbia-a potato gun wielding enough power to rip through a port-a-potty door and immobilize the inhabitant. I stopped mid-bound to locate my family. Scanning the crowd I was suddenly blinded by a fiery glow from the back corner…target located.
Extreme discomfort, like genital poison ivy, crept over me as I approached the table. I knew my family’s ginger glow seemed brighter tonight and sure enough, sitting next to my brother were, not one, but two full-fledged soulless bleeding hair ginger friends with freckle patches so thick their albino epidermis struggled to be seen.
This was so awkward. People were staring. We just looked ridiculous, and the three Red Hots’ incessant talk of magical video games, death metal and other activities fit for the most Vitamin D deficient individuals was not helping.
Throughout the whole meal I sat in silence, wide-eyed, only contributing uncontrollable bursts of very invasive questions, trying to further understand this phenomenon. However, my parent’s displeasure with my behavior prevented any conclusive observations. So please, I am eliciting you to rise up, restore the order, restore the insecurity…or just beat them mercilessly with a stick.
