Oh yes, they call him the streak. (Don’t look, Ethel!)

Lisa lived down the hall from me in my freshman dorm. Since I didn’t get along with my roommate at first, I was a bit desperate eager to make other friends. Lisa and her roommate quickly became the girls I hung out with.

We shared many special moments together, watching the guys across the hall play video games, sharing slightly dirty jokes and quizzes we’d received via the Electronic Mail (It was quite the newfangled technology back then!), and watching less-than-uplifting movies late into the night.

Later there would be laughter and tears, dances and parties, dreams and hopes, weddings and funerals – but let’s be honest. Those first few weeks were all about shallow, silly, just-got-away-from-our-parents fun.

Lisa and I weren’t super close, but we were part of a close group. And aside from a few disagreements (I’m sorry, but nobody should be allowed to listen to Insane Clown Posse at full volume. Nobody.), we got along well. So when it came time to choose roommates for our sophomore year, it made sense that she and I would room together, sharing a bathroom with two of our other girlfriends.

As you probably know, living together is different than being friends with someone. You’ve got the sleeping arrangements (you want to go to bed how early?), the study habits (you want to study how often?), and the dating protocols (you want me to make myself scarce because why?). You get to know a person, and notice things you might not have noticed before.

Like this:

“Ummmm, Mary, when did you dye your hair?”
“Huh, what?”
“Your hair! You’ve got a blonde streak! Has that always been there?”
“Oh yeah, that. Yup, since the day I was born. You hadn’t noticed?”

It’s true. I have a blonde streak in my otherwise plain brown hair. I have a lot of hair, so sometimes – apparently my entire freshman year – the streak gets buried. It’s a birthmark, a sign that God was feeling a little creative that day. My mom has one and, strangely enough, so does my dad’s mom. So pretty much I was doomed destined to have one.

And Lisa had never noticed it.

It’s not her fault, and I’m not saying she didn’t pay attention. Lots of people realize after knowing me (and, you’d assume, seeing the back of my head) for a while that I’ve got a funny stripe of blonde.

Some would say this explains some of my more bizarre behavior. I don’t know about that. But it does make me unique.

What makes you unique? And does your unique quality always show? Or does it take a while for people to notice? And how much do you love Ray Stevens?