The Suffering of Redheads

A lifetime of misery awaits
A lifetime of misery awaits

It’s hard to be a redhead. Unless you grew up in Scotland or a creepy enclave outside of Boston where the denizens are translucent-skinned and skulk about in the shadows, you were ostracized, made fun of, beaten as if you were a stepchild. And let’s face it; redheads grow up to either be attractive or freaky looking. For women, it’s about a 60/40 split that you’ll be cute. For men, it’s about 10/90. Rough.

There’s tons of myths about redheads: that we glow in the dark, derive power from feasting on the blood of the young, are born knowing all the words to Wagner’s Ring Trilogy. Most of these are untrue. But one urban myth has been proven by science: Redheads are more susceptible to pain and are resistent to anesthesia.

Turns out a mutant gene causes us to experience more pain than you brunettes and blondes. I have only one thing to say:

I fucking knew it! I have not been whining for thirty-plus years; I’ve been expressing an appropriate level of discomfort given my gene mutation. Suck on it, Mom.

But now that I’ve been identified as a genetic mutant, I wonder, will the world fear me and my kind even more than before? Will the calumny against redheads reach epic, and I fear tragic, proportions? It’s not like we can take much abuse.

To be continued....