Twin Set

OK, before I start, I just want you to know that by “twins” I do not mean jugs/boobs/rack/tits, or whatever other hilarious nomenclature you ordinarily use. By “twins” I mean identical twins. Actual people. The kind who annoyed the fuck out of me in the Doublemint® ads. Those twins.
But already I’m getting ahead of myself.
I am not a twin. But there used to be a time when I wanted desperately to be one. I tried for years to become a twin, but eventually something told me it just wasn’t going to happen. There was no long-lost twin who my mother gave up for adoption because she decided she could only stand so much cuteness at a time, and who would one day show up on my doorstep with a battered suitcase and a history to match. Nope.
My sister and I, although 18 months apart, used to pretend we were twins. When our ages were still in the double digits (I know you’re shocked to learn that I’m not seven years old), we insisted on wearing matching outfits. Our favorites were our “newspaper” skirts — short, snappy little numbers that looked like the pages of a newspaper, complete with actual stories, and our mod “wet-look” fringed red miniskirt and matching bolero vest sets that would’ve been the envy of all the Brady girls. We had many others, including these horrendous suits that had knickers instead of regular pants, in which we had our second- and fourth-grade school pictures taken, much to my modern-day horror.
I don’t know why we liked dressing alike so much. It may have been because we were each other’s best friend, or maybe we were narcissistic little bitches and this was the closest thing we could get to carrying around a full-size mirror all day. It’s not really important, and I don’t care to dig into the psychological ramifications of what it all means. It was just cute.
We haven’t dressed alike in years. She says I dress more like a “lady” than she does (which is fucking hilarious given that I sometimes wonder why I wasn’t born with a dick) and that she looks like a “small man”. She insists I am “like a model” (yeah, I’m laughing too) and she is “peasant stock”. I could no more see myself wearing her stuff (colorful, somewhat “bohemian”, schmattes in her hair, tons of bracelets) than she could see herself wearing mine (think Banana Republic meets Calvin Klein meets Anthropologie, or Monica from Friends [fuck off, I like that show]).
Now, as an “adult” (yes, the quotes are necessary), I just cannot stand when I see adult twins who are dressed exactly alike. (I’m not going to go into identical twinfants™ or toddlers here. Let’s leave the kids out of this, OK? It’s bad enough they have to hear us arguing every night after we put them to sleep. I will not subject them to this!) Once you’ve reached a certain age (I’d say, oh, about 10), it’s just not cute or charming when you and your sister wear matching overalls and have the same bangs. And no, it’s also not cute when you and your sister take it even further.
Get your own identity already. The cord was cut years ago. Just because your parents named you “Mandy and Sandy” or “Mandy and Mindy” doesn’t mean you can’t get over it, go beyond it, and celebrate yourselves as an individuals.
(Oh, and by the way, speaking of twins … did you check out the twins’ twins on the site I linked?)