“So how old are you?” exclaimed the friendly lady to a cheerful twin girl.
“I am six,” she replied with a smile tickling her lips, “but mummy says I am ever so tall for my age.”
“And what about you little man,” questioned the same friendly lady to a shorter twin boy.
“I’m six as well,” he snorted barely concealing his annoyance, and then together in a weird Jedward way my children chimed…
“We are twins.”
“Oh, how lovely,” sang the friendly old lady who had befriended us in the park, and turning to me she with a look of unashamed joy she cried “aren’t you a marvellously lucky mummy, are they identical?”
Stop the clock.
Lucky to me means being able to put a pound on the lotto and win back six million, lucky to me means finding a heavy iron horseshoe which can be used as a weapon as some ruffian is about to try to snatch your bag…
It is not always the term I used to describe having twins.
When they were both learning to live life without nappies, I spent days ankle-deep in human waste and I wouldn’t say lucky was the first phrase that sprang to mind. When they began to talk they always had someone to argue with, and lucky was not how one felt.
They always have someone to play with, and on the rare occasion that happens happily the sense of relief washes over me like a rain shower rather than the happy dance I associate with luck.
Blessed, for my beautiful healthy offspring, yes.
Lucky; not always.
But moving on; I concede that I am marvellous, happy to chalk that one up to the friendly old lady in the park.
Which leads me nicely on to the question of identical…
Let’s examine the evidence.
Twin girl, is the tallest in her class, she has beautiful brown wavy hair, is impeccably behaved, worries about being accidentally naughty and loves to spend hours writing groundbreaking novels which often accidentally plagiarises the three little pigs.
Twin boy on the other hand is a little on the stumpy side; with a mischievous grin that can get him out of a whole heap of trouble. Known to push the rules and stretch the truth he can be tamed with a particularly complex Maths puzzle or access to a life supply of Lego.
Oh, and he has a PENIS.
Twin girl is missing that extra addition to her frame. She doesn’t have a little fire hose to urinate through and has to contend, like the rest of us ladies, with sitting on the toilet to pee. (Apart from that one time when she tried to wee like a man and found herself standing ankle-deep in human waste.)
They are not identical…
However before I had a chance to educate the friendly old lady in the park on basic human biology, twin girl quickly intervened with a sweet reply,
“I am a girl, he is a boy, silly,” she gently refuted, “identical is when you are both the same and I can’t wee standing up.”
Glad she cleared that one up for me.
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