It seems I have a thing for chubby red heads. If you’ve been around for a little while, this is not news for you and it’s probably not even surprising. I’ve always done things a little differently and liked things that are a little quirky. It’s not often you hear “Oh, that’s a hot ranga.” Two of my best friends are rangas as are their kids and for some time there I wanted to be one myself. Dying my hair every shade of red from copper to fire engine red racing stripes I’ve held a secret desire to be a red head.
A friend of mine mentioned this week in the throes of beer bottles that if I liked chubby red heads that my strike rate should be a little higher. He said that the fat, red- headed, man population is probably a pretty limited field and you could assume that chubby chasers who like red hair, like me, are most likely also of a very small number and with such a reduced field why haven’t I been able to find a chubby, ruddy man? It did make me think about why I found myself so attracted to the rotund red heads and while I mentally flicked through my man back catalogue there aren’t that many but there are couple key red heads.
Before parts of my back catalogue are revealed to complete strangers on the interweb, let’s clarify my red headed attractions. Most of you are thinking about the real ginger ninja. Round faced, red blotchy skin, freckles, fly away orange tresses and a wobbly pot belly. While that may in fact end up being my perfect man, who knows, I haven’t met him yet, in my head I see the recent Prince Harry with a bit more weight, a heavy step and a paunched gut. The chubby part is a necessity. I want a manly lumber jack, not a man who can wear women’s jeans. While Prince Harry may be the hot red head, Ed Sheerhan the cute one in the middle, Fat Bastard is obviously way off the scale. So, like all things, it’s a sliding scale and one that depends on how much I’ve had to drink.
The first chubby red head in my back catalogue is not a good one. He was slightly ‘off’ and I met him under incredibly dubious circumstances. I was incredibly drunk in one of Caxton streets most ‘prestigious’ hot spots and I disappeared in the haze of a badly timed smoke bomb into the back of a cab. He was needy, clingy but keenly interested and I was in a low spot. That’s really the only excuse I have. An incrediby long story later, the night ended early when I sent him on his way for unruly behaviour. He had a few fetishes that he hadn’t mentioned and none that I would consider part of an adventure. He gave me a mumbled, ‘but I thought you’d like it?’ and with that, I rolled over, turned off the light and pointed to the front door. The whole experience should have turned me off the gingers for life and while he was in the middle of the bottom half of the scale (below Ed but well above Fat Bastard) it was clear that there was something about the pale skin and short red hair that I was obviously into.
In the streets of Quebec City, I sat with a new found friend and we bonded over our appreciation of a good beard. And in Canada we’d hit the mecca. It was like there were flannel checked lumberjacks walking in pairs, groups and on their own all over the city. And a lot of them were red heads. It was again after a few beers that we confessed out mutual appreciation for the chubby red heads and needless to say, I was ecstatic. There were more of me! We spent quite a lot of time confessing the dying shame and reluctance to point out the ‘hot’ ones to our friends and trying to understand our own bafflements about why we thought they were attractive.
In the man search of my life my criteria has dwindled over the years. To the point that it’s now at only three. Shoes, teeth and a job. My criteria is by no means extensive but it does cover the basics of human decency. Shoes would indicate he can get dressed in the morning, teeth indicate that he has basic personal hygiene and a job shows that he can at least fund his own existence. The criteria is vague and I am reluctant to dwindle the field further still by adding in the chubby red-head specifics, rather my aim is to focus on an area with less competition. While the plan hasn’t worked so far, it has allowed my friends to train their searches and broaden the man hunt that sometimes takes over my social life. It has also meant however that I have given them ample fodder to make fun of me. So until the likes of a podgy Prince Harry wonder into downtown Paddington, I will continue my search. Even if it takes me as far as the Deep South of Logan.
life in big frilly knickers 