Elevator Pitch

I am now terrified of turning a quarter-of-a-century old thanks not only to my imminent (and already existing) wrinkles but also to a woman I rode the elevator up with today.

Her commentary started off fine and quite sweet, like much of my redheaded brethren have experienced I'm sure. "I just love your hair. It's so pretty. I was admiring it from the back," she said. I didn't know she was behind me because she got in the elevator first. So I guess we have a female ginger-phile on our hands.

Anyway, then she said, "You're so lucky," and that kind of stuff we redheads hear all the time and pretend not to care but secretly LOVE hearing. Never stop telling us how beautiful we are because as kids we were tortured and led to believe we were ugly.

After I graciously accepted her compliments (the one time a redhead can be genuinely gracious), I noted her complexion reflected mine and she had some ginger-esque hair herself. She said, "Yeah, mine used to be like yours. But then I went through adult puberty or something."

She couldn't have been more than 33 years old. That's about 8 years away for me. And she said it with such desperation and sadness. I'm terrified of aging. Anyone else feel the same?

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    thegingerphiles

    The Ginger Phile has had the unfortunate disposition of being a ginger since birth. She has tried various medications to cure her gingervitis, including therapies such as tantrum-throwing. Her efforts have been to no avail. Instead, she is trying to write it out, via this blog. Unfortunately, she doesn't think it will bear a soul for her. The Ginger Phile is from the exotic land of Wisconsin, where she had daily inner turmoil over whether she was a ginger or a daywalker. So far, three of three votes say daywalker. She begs to differ, as someone recently told her they would want to be with her if they were biking at night because she is so pale.

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