You've gotta give props to a pastor that can twist the parable of the wheat and the weeds out of Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker.

You just gotta.

Yeah, I admit it. We're fans. I stumbled onto the scene late as far as fanmanship goes. I lived blissfully unaware of Mr. Potter for years and years...and then I moved in with my future husband. The summer of 2002, it was, and he was borrowing the boxed set of four from a friend (Thanks Cassie!) at the time, and had finished the series just before I arrived. Convinced by his tactics, I believed wretched things would happen to me if I failed to read the things. I began on the first book and before the 5th chapter, I knew I was addicted. I ordered a set of books for myself, suspecting that Miss Cassie might like her books returned. Of course, we all know that Miles is a procrastinator in the worst of ways, and I think she had to wait quite awhile to get them back...but note: NOT MY FAULT.

We were starving for the fifth book by the time of its release. Miles, ever the gentleman (and knowing that my brain was fried by wedding details) granted me the first reading of our copy. I was gracious enough to finish in a day. So, the 6th book was released today...and he we decided that he should have the first reading. I was glum, and I left him home alone to wait for his stupid book.

THEN!—

Momma came to the rescue! She saved me! She bought me a copy of my very own! We shall be dueling readers! And with that, I bid you adieu....go ahead and guess what I've got planned for the rest of the evening! I dare ya!

• Pulsating sun.
• Middle of a drought.
• Thoughtless dolt of a Norwegian.

What do these things have in common? ME. Last Wednesday, lost in conversation on the front deck, I caught two hours of brutal solar power. Ouch.

I am tomato-gut red and very uncomfortable. Miles says that "sun-kissed" is a good look for me. Sun-kissed? Sun-fisticuffed is more like it. My scalp aches most, especially when it notices that it carries the weight of my hair.

I was about 8 years old when it began. "She has a spot in her right eye!" Mom exclaimed to the first doctor. Now, I've never had my father's gorgeous blue eyes (mine are darker...Charlie drew the lucky ticket from that particular lottery)...but at least I had a matching set at one time.

It was not my regular doctor. My mother had noticed the smudge of "alarming" color across my right iris one blustery Saturday morning—and, duly freaked out, rushed me to urgent care. The doctor on-call released me with, I am certain, a barely repressed eye-roll and a dismissive, "There's nothing wrong with her."

A month later, the spot had grown, noticeably. My mother, caring for my sensibilities and my young feminine vanity, shuddered, "It just looks so freaky. It can't be normal. There's something wrong. That just doesn't look right!" Dad had a doctor appointment that day, and Mom sent me along with him. "Have him look at her right eye, Rog! I really think there's something very wrong!"

Dad's doctor shrugged at my eye. "She seems healthy enough."

Mother-dearest was not pleased. "You've got to be kidding me! Her eyes don't match! They used to match! It looks so odd!" Another month passed. The spot grew more still, and my mother finally took me to my own doctor. He took one look at my eye and shooed us away, telling Mom that I was perfectly fine and for goodness sake calm down!

That right eye continued to alarm my mother for years. (In her defense, it did appear that my eye had a spreading mass of yellow for awhile there....but I feel it's my right to pick on her :-D) Luckily, as the area grew, it was apparent that the alien color was hazel, not yellow—hazel, the color of my mother's eyes. This, naturally, made her absurdly proud.

Over the years, I have received humorous comments. Some people, people who I've known most of my life, have never noticed the oddity. Others will notice it "out of the blue" (pun most certainly intended) after years of ignorance only to ask, "Did you know that your eyes are different colors?" Or, "Is there something in your eye?" Or, my favorite, "Do things look different out of that eye?" As my biology teacher stated—this is the biology teacher who used me as the class show-and-tell through all of our genetic studies...me! The SHYEST of them all! You wanna see a widow's peak? Look at Laura. Laura doesn't have hanging ear lobes. Laura is a freak of genetic nature. Everyone, please: Look at Laura. Study her, make her nervous, make her wish she had a bag on her head—erm, where was I?

Oh, yes, as my biology teacher stated, "It's a good conversational piece, at least." (Obviously I have some unresolved issues) Indeed, as it is taking up an entire post. Of course, I've also had a full strength, albeit sugar free, coffee drink recently, and I have very hyper fingers.

Just to tie this post together a bit: I'm goofy-looking and jittery. Moving forward now.

About a week ago, Mom pointed out, quite excitedly, that Kate Bosworth has my eye! Same side and all! I may still be a genetic freak of nature, but I'm not the only one! I, being the obsessive researcher that I am, studied all there is to know about freaky eye coloration, and found A NAME for the condition! Sectoral Heterochromia Iridis! It can develop, assuming a child is not born with the discoloration, if they experience a sort of trauma early in life (I bet I was being deprived of pie or something) or late in life. Isn't that crazy!?

If this question ever comes up in trivial pursuit, I'm totally covered.

[If any of you have read to this point and are still interested] Here is a list of somewhat famous people who have Heterochromia Iridium (different-colored eyes). Cheers!