Timing is everything. That is the number one rule in comedy. At least that was what Carrie was told when she started writing jokes at ten. Her dad said there were too many details to keep track of but she should stick with it because redheads make great comediennes.
Carrie has hated being a redhead her whole life. She hates freckles and creamy skin. She hates the color orange in all shades but reserves the most venom for peach tones. She wears her hair short to minimize the carrot top reference which is stupid because carrot tops are green but she’s tired of that rant. The tattoo addiction is rooted in the same self-loathing. It’s all worked out pretty well for her stand-up routines but then the strangest thing happened.
The world fell in love with ‘gingers’. Even the term showed love; just saying the word ginger triggered some happy gland. It softened all the rough, battle-ax edges of being a red-head. The cosmic stylist had put a rinse on the red-head world and washed all the brassiness out. Carrie hated the new look/word. She was in a rut. For the first time she considered shaving her head, but she resented the maintenance of dealing with peach fuzz.
8 min @ the desk, 3.5.13; inspired by conversation overheard at St. John’s Bakery, Broadview Ave. TO
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