Who's watching the redhead?

I’m used to getting a decent amount of attention for my hair. I get it. I’m part of a 2% endangered population, curiosity and jealousy is expected. I was not, however, prepared for the level of Moroccan attention my hair would incite.

It took me two days to realize the constant kissing sounds I kept hearing were directed at me. Loitering Moroccan teenagers have made cat calling an art form and that is something I’m certainly not used to. By day three, I’d collected a variety of potential suitors who would follow us around like groupies. It had became essential for me to pull up my hood and hide in the middle of group like I was some kind of magical trinket capable of bringing endless power and eternal life (I still this think this is highly possible). Everyone had to keep an eye out for the redhead. I could never stop moving and I could never be at the end of the line just hanging out in the open begging to be kidnapped! I've seen Taken. It was pure harassment. I'm not going to lie though, I basically loved it.

We spent quite a bit of time in a fancy rug shop and I found it curious how many rugs I was presented with even though it was clear I was not in the market for one. It was only later that my coworker told me they were setting up a dowry. Who knew it was this easy?! Obviously it became the standing joke among the group that I was to be used to get special deals and extra camels. I must have collected at least 50 proposals for marriage. That’s more than a month’s worth here in America!

As it goes, it went to my head and I began to misuse my power. A smile would knock the price of any good to half and a wink, forget it, I was walking out of there with two of whatever it was. “For you, good price,” they’d say, “you lucky charm.”

It might have taken me some time, but I figured it out. They all thought I made the colorful marshmallow cereal. Whatever, I’ll take it, in Morocco, I’m a legend!