I’ve never been with a redhead. Never had sex with one. Never even kissed one. Never even held one’s hand.
And I am absolutely 100% completely infatuated with them.
I don’t know what it is, but the combination of hair color and skin tone and freckles and just the entire package, I turn into a fucking wreck when a sexy ginger is in the room.
And bottle red doesn’t count. Like Paul Rudd so eloquently said in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, “I wonder if the carpet matches her pubes.”
But if this not-so-young yet strapping virile man doesn’t taste the shamrock soon, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.
Recently, every time I scroll past another auburn goddess, it’s become torture as I seek to wet my beak in the amber feminine form.
So does this mean I prefer redheads over others? Answer: No. I’m not shallow. Sexy is the most important quality, and that is found within.
All I’m saying is I’ve never had Shepherd’s Pie. And it looks fucking delicious.
I’ve never had Chocolate pudding either, but that’s for another post.