Have you ever had someone ask if you and your sister (or brother) were twins?

I have, at least a million times!

First it was Brittany and I, when we were about six and eight years old. (Brittany is one and a half years older than I am.) Even I have to admit, we did look somewhat alike then. Not long after Brittany and I grew different enough for people to realize (or assume) that we were not twins, they started asking if Brady (who is one and a half years younger than I am) and I were.

People would ask the question often enough that I started wondering what it would be like to say that Brady and I were twins. Especially if the people were strangers and would never see us again.

But don’t worry…I never did.

Finally when I was around 12 or 13 years old, the question stopped coming. Brittany got taller than me — which doesn’t take much — and Brady shrunk. Actually, I don’t think Brady shrunk, but I don’t think I got much taller, either.

Brittany’s hair got lighter, mine got darker. Brady’s stayed the same.

Brittany’s hair was down to her shoulders, mine was at my chin. Brady’s was buzzed.

Brittany wore her hair in a pony-tail, I wore mine down. Brady’s was the normal bed-hair he always has had and always will have.

Brittany has a nice cowlick, I have none. Brady has straight hair with a cowlick.

As if I haven’t made it clear enough, Brittany doesn’t look like me, Brady doesn’t look like me, and I don’t look like either of them.

At least, that’s what I thought.

I did start to grow a little bit. Now I’m nearly as tall as Brittany. (Poor Brady was left behind in the dust. And yet he scornfully claims that he will grow much taller than me. And I scornfully claim that he won’t.)

Yesterday was the windiest day I’ve seen in a long time, and since I was out mowing, I put my hair in a ponytail. Then Brittany and I headed over to the gas station next to us so that she could show me how to fill up the mower and the empty gas can.

“All right, take that hose thing…but don’t point it at me, please…and insert the nozzle into the that hole in the lawn mower…hey, not THAT hole! Okay, now you pull the trigger, but don’t splash your eyes…or my eyes either, come to think of it. Watch it carefully to make sure it doesn’t overflow…help, it’s overflowing!!!! Stop pulling the trigger! Whew! That was a close one. Now……let me do it.” 

When we walked in to the shop to pay for the gas, the lady at the counter stared at us strangely before she took the money. Last time Brady and I had come to fill up the mower, we’d received the aren’t-you-cute-little-kids-that-can-get-gas-for-your-mower-all-by-yourselves comment that sometimes makes me wonder if they realize that I’m 15 years old. I thought this lady would say the same thing.


“Hey…are you twins?!?!”