The fact that little ol' Annie made the loathsome lyrics "the sun'll come out tomorrow" synonymous with optimism has always amazed me.
After all, we redheads should stick together. And if you have the slightest hint of red in your head, the last thing you want to do is be out in the sun. Today or tomorrow.
This though is that time of year -- at least whenever the sun sees fit to poke its head out again -- that everyone starts getting all beautifully bronze or nice and tan as they cavort in tank tops and shorts.
And apparently redheads have something else in common -- short memories. Because like of the rest of the sun-deprived Hoosiers of 2014, we, too, have longed to enjoy the warmth of the sun.
Yep, I got a bit of color last weekend.
Unfortunately, that color was red. Sat out taking photos at the Greencastle Chamber of Commerce Golf Scramble at Clover Meadows last Friday when the weather couldn't decide what it wanted to do, and despite at least half an afternoon of cloud cover and threatening skies, I managed to come out of it looking like I'd been basted in iodine.
Red forehead. Red nose (no Rudolph remark necessary, thank you). Red knees. Red legs (rather be dead than a Cincinnati Red, by the way).
Yea, that's what inevitably happens to those of us born this way -- fair-skinned and redheaded.
It's nothing new, of course, I remember spending way too many hours lounging in the pool with the Mazzei boys at the house next door growing up in suburban Chicago (Broadview if you must know). Stayed out in the sun so long one time that my back blistered and I had to sleep on my stomach for days.
But I longed to be tan, like so many others. My summer regimen, however, was burn ... peel ... repeat.
When I was in high school, Man Tan, a fashionable product that promised to artificially tan pigment-challenged folks like me, emerged. I slathered my arms and legs in it one night and awakened to find my extremities as orange as an Oompa Loompa.
That necessitated wearing long sleeves throughout one of the hottest summers on record. Perhaps that explains why to this day I find myself infatuated with long-sleeve shirts.
Now the red has faded and scaly peeling has begun. My face has gone from lobster red to stucco pale. When I scratch or rub, forehead flakes fall on my shirt.
Believe me, it won't be the first and only time it happens this summer. After all I have yard work to do Saturday and plan to cover DePauw graduation on Sunday, so I'll be outside essentially all weekend.
But through it all, I've come to realize the toughest thing about ending up all red and sun-burned is this: It makes it really tough to match your tie to your face.