The small “Parish” room was packed for the only blues shows I’d ever seen at the House of Blues. As I squeezed through the crowd, I found myself momentarily mashed against a small, sexy, older red-haired woman. My mind began formulating pick-up tactics even before I realized it was Bonnie Raitt.
A redhead myself, I have always considered us a separate people, and as such have always harbored strong, innate love for other redheads — especially those who represent us as well as Ms. Raitt. I’d forever dreamt of marrying a fellow redhead. That she might also be a better guitarist than I, was almost too much to fantasize about.
In the loud-as-hell room, I felt my blood chugging a little bit faster as Bonnie Raitt looked up at me from what seemed like about two feet down. It was cold out, and she wore a cute little leather jacket. All I could think to do was shout, “Redheaded woman, god damn!”
She smiled (She gets me!), and because we couldn’t talk over the music, Bonnie Raitt simply leaned in, reached inside of my jacket and hugged me, tightly. Then she kept it moving.
I walked away feeling tremendously privileged. Also, horny.
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