“If you really are a natural blonde, then why are your eyes brown?”

You have just skimmed over the one question that never fails to elicit a sigh of utter despondency (usually accompanied by an exaggerated eye roll and all-too necessary shoulder sulk) from yours truly. This question has served as a stubbornly rooted buoy amidst the ever-changing tides that lap my life’s shores. For reasons unbeknownst to mankind, the idea of a natural blonde having any other eye color than blue leaves every person I meet completely baffled and physically uncomfortable: if Mendelian genetics had operated true to form during my stay in the womb, I would undoubtedly sport baby blues and all would be at peace. But alas, recessive genes were obviously hankering to throw a wrench in these plans. This was something I had come to accept. My fate was sealed, and there was nothing I could possibly do – or so I thought.

The day was like any other. My seventh grade self stumbled out of the car, lugging a turtle shell of a backpack in tow, and marched onward towards the entrance of the school. And then, it happened: my monotonous trek was interrupted by a striking pair of gray eyes. It was not the color that perplexed me so; rather, how on earth they existed on a girl who had brown eyes a mere 24 hours before. After much interrogation and careful research, I learned of and became obsessed with the idea of color contacts.

In a matter of days, I found myself plopped squarely in the waiting room of my local optometrist, flipping through an impressive catalogue of eye colors that I could soon (facetiously) claim as my own. Hazel, blue-green, gray, emerald, purple – name a potential eye color, and this place had it! The sheer thought that two little film discs could rid my appearance of the atypical “brown eye-blonde hair” combination came to dominate my mind; this was truly the answer to my prayers, the end to my own personal plague. An unnatural hue of bright blue beckoned, and it was love at first wear. I finally fit the stereotypical blonde image that society expected and did not hesitate to flash my new icy blue peepers everywhere I went.

And by everywhere, I most nearly mean: in the company of friends, family, and even just myself. My contacts became a part of my identity that, at the time, I could not bear to part with – that is, until I polled my classmates on which eye color they preferred on me. I expected each one to shout “BLUE!” to the heavens, matching my own love for my new look, and all did agree (albeit not so enthusiastically) with my opinion; except for Charlie.

“I think your brown eyes make you special.”

At first, I was insulted; then, I was in disbelief; and finally, I was vowing never to wear the contacts again. I can only be brown-eyed, blonde-haired, beautiful me.