Redhead Best Friend Quotes

Georgeta cleared her throat, and pushed herself deeper into the sofa cushion. “You know Penelope Stephanopoulos, Jasmira’s best friend?” she asked. “That Greek redhead with an attitude bigger than the Parthenon?” Erik snorted.

She told me that Melisande had borne a daughter, and that one day . . . one day she would like for us to meet. And so when your father advertised the fact that he was looking for a husband for his daughter—” “Advertised,” she interrupted. “Oh, yes. Far and wide. Princess. Beautiful. Nubile. Available to big strong man, with even bigger sword.” Mickel thumped his chest. “I was intrigued. I was mortified. I thought I would save the daughter of my mother’s best friend from a fate worse than death.” “And if I had been a loud mouthed harridan with a taste for garlic and a fear of bathing?” “I would have been the Warlord everyone thinks I am, tossed her aside like a sack of potatoes in a white wedding dress, and asked for the hand of a peculiar redheaded woman I met on the road.” Sally smiled. “And if she said no?” “Well,” Mickel said, kissing her hand. “I may not be the Warlord of the Savage Belly Ache, but I am exceptionally brave. I would fight for her.

Tessa Dahl A daughter of famed British novelist Roald Dahl, Tessa Dahl was a good friend of Diana’s and her colleague at several successful charities. A prolific writer and editor, Tessa is a regular contributor to many important British newspapers and magazines, including the Sunday Times, the Daily Mail, the Telegraph, Vogue and the Tatler. The only part that marred the night was, typically, my dad, Roald Dahl, who left at the interval. I was devastated, but that was his modus operandi. I wanted him to see me in the Royal Box. I fear most of the post-party was spent with me on the phone crying to him, after Diana had left and we had done the royal lineup. Gosh, she was always so good at that. Talk about doing her homework. Every single performer, she had time for, even knowing a little bit about each one. We didn’t see each other again until Bruce Oldfield’s ball. Diana had come with Prince Charles and looked really miserable. Beautiful, in a gold crown (with Joan Collins trying to outdo her--good luck, Joan), but still, she had a new aura of hopelessness. Although she did dance with Bruce to KC and the Sunshine Band’s “That’s the Way I Like It.” We stopped to talk. “How’s Daisy?” she asked kindly. She obviously knew that I had been having my baby down the hall in the same hospital and at the same time as she had had Prince Harry. “Actually, it’s a different bovine name. She’s called Clover.” I was touched that she had remembered that we had had our babies around the same time and that my little girl did have a good old-fashioned cow’s name. I asked, “Wasn’t it fun at the Lindo? I do love having babies.” “I’m afraid I find it rather disgusting,” she revealed. This, of course, was the famous time when Prince Charles had been so disparaging about Harry’s being a redhead.

Jessica, Willow, and Abby burst through the door in a loud explosion of giggles and then stop at the counter to get their Diet Cokes before heading to the back to join us. I don’t really like these girls—I have never liked these girls—and yet somehow they are on the periphery of our friend group. Okay, fine, we are actually on the periphery of their friend group, since as a trio, Jessica, Willow, and Abby are by far the most popular girls in the junior class. I have no idea how they’ve managed to swing it—popularity is an undefinable thing at Mapleview, which as best I can tell involves a whole lot of unearned, effortless confidence and the ability to get other people to look at you for no reason at all. Jessica is a blonde, Willow is a brunette, and Abby is a redhead, just like every teen friend group on television (except, in this case, sans a sassy black sidekick). Boom! Best friends for life. I assume there’s more to their friendship than hair-color optics and an affinity for thong underwear. That taken individually there is the distant possibility they might actually be interesting people. I doubt I will ever know, though, since they travel as a pack

The list of things I’d rather do besides go on a weekend trip with my ex-best friend and the redheaded menace included, but was not limited to, feeding my hand through a woodchipper, eating a pound of raw maggots, and watching Glitter on repeat with my eyes taped open.

Want to come over this weekend?’ I asked. ‘I can’t,’ she said. I didn’t like the way she didn’t look up from her phone while she talked. I was sure she was sending messages to Tracey, who, no doubt, was sending similar communiques right back. ‘Why are you being like this?’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. She smiled a little and bit her lower lip. Her long blond braid dangled on her shoulder. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. ‘I’m not doing anything.’ Something about the coyness in her face felt familiar. In that moment I recalled a pale redhead named Alison who had been Hanna’s best friend before me. This was years earlier, fourth grade, but I remembered the way Alison used to float toward us on the playground sometimes, how Hanna would ignore her while we practiced our tricks on the bars where there was room for only two. ‘I’m so sick of her,’ Hanna would say to me whenever she saw Alison approaching, and then she would look at Alison with the same fake smile that she was now using on me.

going to ask Katie.” Amalia practically burst through the phone. I was sure that part of Amalia’s excitement was having a friend that might be going to the party with her. But she also went on and on about how she had always thought that Katie and I would make such a cute couple and it was a wonderful idea and she was rooting for me and several other encouraging statements. Amalia also said that I’d better ask Katie soon, since it was going to be hard to keep that a secret. I called Katie right after I hung up. I didn’t have the guts to get rejected in person, but Amalia’s excitement had excited me. Katie and I talked about the latest assignment, a modern satire of a great work. I was planning on writing a version of “The Raven” about high school, an idea that Katie seemed to like. After all, she was writing a high-school version of Macbeth. We were in sync in many ways. And then, I just said it. “Do you want to go to the junior prom with me?” Katie said yes immediately. There was no time to blabber about how I thought it made sense for her to go because Amalia was going or to add in an as friends. Katie had said yes. I didn’t know what to expect from junior prom when I got there. The last school dance I’d been to was the first school dance I was able to go to. I was so excited for that one—Hunter had a few dances each year, and when the first dance came around, I put on my best ugly shirt (I wasn’t fashion forward enough to know that orange shirts are a bad idea for a redhead) and stood there awkwardly while everyone ignored me. From then on, school dances weren’t my thing. I had spent the previous three years at USY dances though, so I wasn’t intimidated by junior prom. I just wanted to know what I was in for. Jacob Corry’s girlfriend was a senior, so she became my Obi-Wan.