My favorite thing about myself, clearly and by far, is my deep rooted sense of self loathing.
I’m being sarcastic of course.
Or am I?
I want to stay on the surface level (literally) and say it is my red hair. Unfortunately at my ancient age of 53 years it is a very safe bet that my days as a red head are numbered and that number is pretty small. My older sister and fellow red head had her hair turn pretty much white by my age (I think). I feel lucky to still be red at this point, but I see white in the mix and I know that soon enough the white will take over. It is inevitable.
Like most red heads, my childhood was rough. I was always picked on for being different. There aren’t many of us out there and we’re all targets. It’s still a sore spot and a trigger for me. Call me ginger and I will fucking slay you. That’s sarcasm too… or is it. Once you get into the deep end of puberty though suddenly having red hair is an asset somehow and all of the little kid abuse suddenly seems worth it. It’s like running a gauntlet and coming out the other side 10 times stronger.
So, keeping things light and not getting too psychologically daring here, my answer is my red hair… and my deep rooted sense of self loathing. Sarcasm… or not.
Inside the Red Head's Head 