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RED Ginger. That short, bisyllabic word which is always dangling sinisterly at the back of my mind as I peep nervously into my mirror each morning with the pathetic hope that perhaps, just maybe, it will be brown. I’ve never enjoyed being politely informed what a lovely “ginger” colour it is. To me it has always been red – a much less emotive adjective which reduces the element of distaste. To be honest, it’s not just the “ginger”, it’s the brown freckles against the pink or ruddy complexion which resembles a modern art picture where the artist has displayed even less colour sense than usual. Lying on a beach in sunny Spain is a Krypton-factor style endurance test. I watch the whole world around me grill to a dark shade of conformity while my freckles turn brown and the remaining areas of skin burn to a shade of scarlet which would rival an infra-red lamp. I look like a fashion accessory for the tanned with my freckles matching perfectly while my red patches form an interesting clash. When God presented us with red hair he also presented us with innumerable problems.
Approximate Word count = 732
Approximate Pages = 2.9
(250 words per page double spaced)
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