The Rabbit Hole's favorite spice is "ginger"

Being born a redhead in 1970 was always more of a curse than a blessing.  I have been called "carrot top" more times than I can count, and have heard "freckle face" every time the summer sun sent its rays towards my lily white person.  My ex-husband, being born overseas, in a country where having a year-round "Bain du Soleil tan" was the norm, did not know what to make of my freckles.  When we met, he looked at my arms and asked, "Why do you have these spots all over?"  I, being 21 and a smartmouth, replied, "They aren't spots!  They're freckles!  You don't know anything about white people, do you?"  Poor man.  I'm not certain why he continued to speak to me, much less ask me to marry him later.  I suppose he was not aware of the warning label that red hair typically is.

I am the stereotype of a redhead.  I am sassy, somewhat hot tempered, and have a cache of looks that I am able send to my face that can make a person want to do himself/herself a harm, or melt into a puddle of warm caramel.  Keenly aware am I, of the arsenal that I possess.  I use it to my advantage, without shame.  If people used my ginger tresses and fair skin for mockery as I was growing up, then I will use the powers given to me, for my own delight.  Did I mention that redheads have an "evil streak?"

People are not the only ones with a fascination with red hair.  It has become increasingly clear that The Rabbit Hole finds my ginger locks quite the cause for presenting itself.  More often than not, my hair is the start of an exchange that leaves me, or even the other person, staring blankly, wondering what on earth just happened.  I could not make up these things, especially with the frequency that they occur.  Random oddness has become part of my life, never knowing when it may occur.

These are the Tales From The Rabbit Hole.