Andrea read the ad and sighed, pressing the dry newsprint awkwardly to her chest. Now that was her kind of man; if only someone like that would pop into her life. The 29-year-old psychologist was smart enough, though, to know not to place her hopes in some silly little newspaper ad, when most of the men who wrote in only went for the pretty ones; the little fashionable girls with legs up to there or bleach blonde hair.
Andrea snarled at the mirror above the mantle-place and the freckled, podgy ginger who was snarling out of it. If she was being honest, Andrea would have said that even her snarl seemed out of place there, different from the ever-so-selfless manner she normally carried.
Then there was the fact that Andrea was attracted to the odd ones, like this man, for instance. It wasn’t the prospect of wine, a good sense of humour, or even the pianist's hands he had, that drew her to him. It was those statements: ‘Must not be colour blind. Must enjoy silk scarves and bright handkerchiefs. The latter criteria are linked’ that enticed Andrea in. It was something different, something exciting and something more than a little magical to Andrea. She wanted to know why. Why didn’t he want a woman who was colour blind? Of course, there was a rational explanation –like there was a rational explanation for the entire world- but mysteries drew Andrea in, like toys to a child's play. That was why she had become a psychologist in the first place: she had wanted to figure out every single little thing going through her mind, and why those variables occurred. Of course, researching the mind and helping to find treatment for age-related loss didn’t truly lead Andrea to discover why she was so odd, but she liked being around the business and figuring out the people who passed her by. People who remained to be better than her, their lives decorated by proper family, and probably a greater happiness too.
It had all started at childhood, she mused to herself. She had been the one they all could find errors about. She wasn't smart enough, could jump high enough...she was ginger. Once a ginger child with thick-rimmed spectacles, emphasising those gaping brown puddles. Gingers were a minority grouping and once said to be possessions of the devil. It fascinated Andrea how the influence of humanity had changed so much during the years; if she wanted to grasp, to understand the hate people had towards each other, she only had to look into the past, and the emotions that had arisen from it all. It was a psychologist's view that emotions shaped a lot of the actions that humans did, even if they didn't know the course of their actions themselves. It was one particular proponent of the Psychodynamic approach, Sigmund Freud, who proclaimed that all human action was based around love and romance.
Now, he was a psychologist whom Andrea could not believe one bit. She had never really been 'in touch' with relationships, so it seemed a ridiculous notion to presume that they were what led to all of humanity's actions. Passion was not- it could not be- the sole power presiding over the minds of modern men and women.
Sighing again, the lady gathered up the rest of the little pieces in the newspaper and tucked them back in. She didn’t normally read the romance sections, those 'looking for love', full-of-cheese advertisements, but her podgy fingers had dropped the newspaper and the caps-locked print stood out a mile away, even without contact lenses in.
The flat that she stood up in was small enough to suit one person and their objects, but Andrea never had enough possessions, and the little building yearned for some family life. As an only child, Andrea had no children in her close family to bring around, and she knew that this little living space imitated, and had been greatly influenced by, her outlook on life. Lonely…