Most people think I'm Irish because I have red hair. And freckles. The truth is, I don't know if I have any Irish blood. And if I do, its not much - at best, my grandmother is half Irish, which would make me a whopping 1/8th Irish. The red hair, as it turns out, is simply a genetic mutation which means that people can make up irritating nicknames for me (Nikki Red, Fightin' Red...), I will have skin to match the hair if I stay out in the sun too long and I have a bad temper.
To this day, my father still points to anything red and says to me, "Hey honey, what color is that bag/shirt/toy?" When I ignore him, he yells "Red!!" like maybe I'm color blind and don't know. Or maybe I got amnesia and don't remember where this is going after 27 years.
My husband was worried that I would pass this genetic defect on to our son. Actually, he still isn't convinced that Sebastian is out the woods. He's waiting for that hair to grow in before he decides if we'll keep the boy or not. Do they make baby hair dye, you know, just in case? I'm kinda attached to the kid at this point...
Erin go Bragh!!