The Last Red Head

9 y/o: Ew, there’s a hair in my vegetables.

Me: It’s probably yours anyway. Throw it out.

13 y/o: It’s totally yours, mom. It’s red. 

Me: Lots of people have red hair.

13 y/o: No, you’re the only one.

Me: The only one with red hair? Why didn’t I know about this?Where have my admirers been? Where are my accolades?

13 y/o: What?

Me: If I’m the only one with red hair, I deserve some sort of recognition. 

Hubby: At least a plaque.

Me: Screw a plaque. I want poems written about me and songs describing my beauty.

13 y/o: I didn’t mean-

Me: And a diamond tiara. Where is my tiara? Is nothing sacred anymore? As the only red-haired woman in the world, I have earned the right to a damned tiara!

13 y/o: I meant in the house! You’re the only red head in the house!

9 y/o: (throws the hair away and whispers) Ask for a throne.

Me: Good thinking. I want a throne made of gold, too. 

Hubby: Get me one, but not a wimpy gold one. I want a kick-ass iron throne.

9 y/o: Can I have one with dragons painted on it? 

13 y/o: (rolls her eyes) You’re all weirdos.



6 thoughts on “The Last Red Head

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