The Redheaders

I don’t know how to interact with men anymore. I don’t know how to flirt anymore. I don’t even know when a man is coming on to me anymore.

Recently, I had an eye opening experience. I was bike riding through my town on a beautiful Sunday morning, as I often do, when a bright electric blue t-shirt sitting at an outdoor café caught my eye. The t-shirt had the name of an organization I had recently begun supporting written on it, so I was curious to find out more. This poor unsuspecting t-shirt almost choked on its Sunday brunch frittata as I came up behind it and startled it with a big “Hello!” We chatted for a few minutes about how we came to know and connect with the organization. Suddenly, mid-sentence I gazed up and away from my new t-shirt acquaintance and noticed there was a man in the t-shirt… handsome, nice blue eyes, athletic build, open energy, and my age. I didn’t think anymore about him other than a passing, “Oh he’s cute” (like we women tend to do). (Okay I admit it; I do believe my eyes took a quick peek at his left ring finger...nothing there.)

As the conversation about the organization came to a close, I started to roll away on my two wheels. He stood up, said that he loved to bike ride, and asked me if I rode my bike often. I responded affirmatively, got on my bike, and started off down the street. Then he asked (a bit louder) if I liked Frisbee golf. I tossed my affirmative reply over my shoulder as I began to put some distance between us. Finally, he asked (louder still) if I liked jazz, of course, followed by my second toss-back remark of an affirmative nature. Half way down the street, I stopped mid-pedal, turned my bike around, enthusiastically pedaled up to him and asked, “Hey, do you like horseback riding?” He jumped up and eagerly replied that he, in fact, loved horseback riding!

I hopped back on my pedals and sped away with a final shoulder toss, “Great! I love it too! Well, I bike ride around here quite a bit. Maybe I will see you again sometime!” And went on my merry way.

I had happily pedaled down the street for about 20 minutes when my brain kicked into 10th gear. I pulled to the curb, thought for a second and asked myself, “Was that guy hitting on me?” DUH. I had had absolutely no clue.

I haven’t seen him (or that great electric blue t-shirt) since.

I didn’t pay any attention to this attractive and, perhaps, available man, I have since realized, because I had automatically placed him in a certain group of men I call the “Redheaders.” For some reason about 5 years ago, I decided that men who give me any attention at all do so simply because they love women, any woman, with red hair. A man smiles, says hello, offers to help me somehow, and I think to myself, (with a certain condescending tone), “Redheader!”

Talk about deliberately taking myself completely out of any part of any equation that might equal relationship. What the hell?

And not only that, but why do I feel a certain distain for the Redheader instead of inwardly congratulating him on his excellent and sophisticated taste in women? Furthermore, why would I judge men (well, at all) but especially those who are attracted to one of the physical characteristics I absolutely love about myself? I mean, seriously, how many times have I mentioned my curly red hair in this blog alone?

Just because Patty Stanger on the Millionaire Matchmaker rejects women for her bachelor millionaires simply because they are redheads (which, by the way, really pisses me off) doesn’t mean I‘m not worthy of male attention and a whole lot more.

And finally, how come I get mad at Patty Stanger for rejecting redheads, but I don’t get upset with myself, basically, for rejecting my redheaded self through men?

Get intimate with my thoughts about this right now? Sorry, not tonight, I have a headache.