(My boyfriend is watching football, which I have no interest in. However, he knows I am into redheads; he happens to be one. We have a running joke that there is a secret “World Ginger Society” that he meets with but can’t divulge any information about.)

Me: *glazed look of boredom*

Boyfriend: “Hey, guess who the Bengals quarterback is?”

Me: “Um… that guy with the ball?”

Boyfriend: “Good, but he’s not just any guy with the ball. He’s a ginger!”

Me: “Oooh!”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, he’s one of the most accomplished gingers out there. In fact, he may be in the running for Ginger of the Year.”

Me: “Hmm… who was Ginger of the Year last year?”

Boyfriend: *in a suddenly serious tone* “I can’t tell you that. I shouldn’t even have mentioned who was being considered.”

Me: “Uh-oh. So, do you have to kill me now?”

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(In the 1950s my grandmother took a boat from the UK to New York. Of course she had to answer questions to get through security.)

Security: “Do you have plans to blow up the White House, madam?”

Grandmother: “Oh, why? Is it an option?”

Security: “Try again, madam.”

(It is in high school debate club. One idiotic and ditzy girl has shown up, to the surprise of all of us.)

Teacher: “So, [Girl] why did you show up today?”

Girl: “Well, I had detention, and I told the teacher I had to meet with you so I could get out of it.”

Teacher: “Really? You shouldn’t do that.”

(A little while later, our meeting wraps up.)

Teacher: “So our topic next week will be euthanasia.”

Girl: “Wait? So we’re debating whether they should let kids into Asia?”

(I’m 13 or 14, and I’m working at my lacrosse team’s bake sale.)

Customer: “Hi. Can I have a brownie?”

Me: “Yes, thank you. That will be a dollar.”

Customer: “Do you take credit cards?”

(Moment of silence.)

Me: “No… we don’t.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Ma’am, this is a bake sale.”

Customer: “Let me speak to your manager!”

Me: “I don’t—”

(My teammate walks over.)

Teammate: “What seems to be the problem here?”

Customer: “She says you don’t accept credit cards. Is that true? Are you the manager?”

Teammate: “Yes, I am. We’re getting a slot in half an hour. Thank you for your time.”

(The customer walks away, mumbling about insolent businesses.)

Me: “Well… that was odd.”

(My grad school colleague is a true, bright redhead. She’s showing a bunch of us pictures of her family on her wedding day. All four of the sibs are redheads, the youngest boy with a huge red ‘fro. Her parents are both mousy brunettes.)

Me: “So… both your parents must carry one copy of the recessive gene for red hair.”

Colleague: “Yup.”

Me: “Which gives them a… one in four chance of ginger?”

Colleague: “Yup.”

Me: “Which they hit…”

Colleague: “Four times in a row. Yup.”

Me: “Your youngest brother looks like Carrot Top.”

Colleague: “Yup. It’s his style. My parents wanted him to shave it off for my wedding… I forbid him.”

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