*Warning the post below is a bit ranty and involves some not so nice language.*
My girls have red hair
Bright beautiful red hair.
It’s handy in the playground because you can spot them a mile away.
But because they have red hair other citizens of this fine city think its ok to invade their (and mine) personal space.
It's like being pregnant again, only I never got the break from the tummy rubbing.
Just the other day a woman came across from the other side of the supermarket aisle and rubbed Pipsqueaks hair - It was like she was in a trance. Eyes glazed, arm extended, she reached across me and rubbed that curly mop - blinked hard like she was no longer possessed then turned to me, clocked my face and realised what she was doing - Apologised and backed away.
One touch of the magic hair can break any evil spell. Apparently.
You don’t know this child and your rubbing her head? She's not a Buda. You don't get a wish. She cant grant you good luck.
( I know this because we still haven't won lotto.)
It happens all the time to my girls.
All. the. time.
Especially in the supermarket - it must happen maybe 4 or 5 times a shopping trip.
And every time the comment of “Her hair is so beautiful” - is always, ALWAYS followed with a comment along the lines of “my sister, brother, granddaughter, godson, uncle -
( insert significant other here) - has hair that colour.”
Apparently redheads make up only 2% of the population.
Not according to the personal space bubble poppers at my supermarket.
So if your significant other has red hair then why do you feel so compelled to change direction to come and touch it?
I get it
Their hair is beautiful. It really is.
But you are changing your direction and physically stopping my trolley with your body so you can make a comment.
Way to give my girls a complex bubble poppers.
Don’t get me wrong, what parent hates hearing how beautiful their children are?
I do like to hear it, and if you are behind me or in front of me in a queue and we aren’t moving along and we are just waiting - then please comment away. Lets have a chat.
But don’t stop my trolley mid stride.
Or physically block my pram so I have to stop or risk running you over.
Or go out of your way to intercept us - Don’t you have shit to do?
There is sometimes though, when I don’t mind.
And this happens more than I care to think about.
Every so often there is a lady (sometimes a gentleman) who stops me -
and they say “My son/daughter had hair like that.”
I see the sadness in their eyes, even though they smile, and I know that they don’t have an emo kid at home with dyed back hair schlepping round their living room.
There's grief there too deep for me to comprehend,
so YOU are welcome to stop me, and make a wish.
Everyone else can piss off.
Are you pregnant?
Do you have ranger kids?
Does your personal space get invaded?
Feel free to have a little rant below!