I have green eyes. Thanks to Wikipedia ( and thanks to my own willingness to waste time reading various Wiki articles rather than being productive) I have discovered that fewer than 2% of the world can say that.Since I’m a gay man who’s bored by Stephen Sondheim, I am obviously part of very refined, tiny group.
I had already known my eye color represented a minority population (as Margaret Cho said “Where’s my parade?) Among my 21 cousins and three brothers, none had green eyes. As a youth, this led to the sort of clumsy banter about illegitimacy you could expect from a bunch of moderately bright kids who had just learned about genetics and sex. Moronic asshats. They’re probably all sitting around listening to Sunday in the Park with George right now.
To make things worse, or more extravagant, I also have a tiny ring of gold around the pupil. That’s right, I have the eyes of the heroine of a bodice ripper. Green eyes with a gold center, you get that description down and the book practically writes itself.
Lord Ivabottom stared deeply into her emerald eyes, flecked with tawny gold, blazing like radioactive english peas. “How dare you!” she panted “Unhand me at once!” I shall title it And Dangerous to Know. On sale soon at fine airport bookstores everywhere.