Redheads are highly unique and beautiful individuals, both inside and out. They are extremely loyal friends and lovers. They are given to poetry and good times. They are vibrant, endearing, and often highly original. They don’t exactly believe in the little people any more, but they are likely to come up with whatever comes next. Their souls are a great blend of ancient, renaissance, and modern heathen, and men and women alike drink a mean pint.
Japanese are afraid of them. Dogs love them – - Thor had red hair – - or rather, was given red hair by the Nordic. That alone pretty much says it all.
However, my rule of thumb is: “redheaded women are insane”. They have to prove themselves not. This started with my mother, or rather my grandmother – or maybe my great (who I knew well) or great-great grandmother. Suspicions continued on through a couple of girlfriends. I can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps my great grandfather put it best: “like spit on a skittle that one”, or “squirrely”.
Redheads can be extremely smart, but are more often just outright tenacious. They are pit-bull game in matters of importance and pride. Some mistakenly call this “pig headed”, or possibly “indomitable”.
If Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man (1952) is not the best poetic version of a red headed woman, then I don’t know what is.
Oh, and they tell a good yarn.