I'm not sure how many of you know this, but I grew up in a house with twins. Twin BOYS to be exact.
When you grow up with twins, it's completely natural for one of two things to happen.
1, you can begin to thoroughly despise all things double, or 2, you can become intrigued with the phenomenon.
My little sister, Boogs, and I chose the latter.
If, by some chance, somebody bought us matching outfits, we would go hog wild. Not only would we wear the outfits, but we would do our hair the same, and go to great lengths to match as much as humanly possible. One time, Boogs even insisted that I learn sign language, because my teeth were yellower than hers, and THAT would give us away.
Yeah, because the 4-6 inches in height difference wouldn't do that...
Once we were properly disguised, we would venture out to where our mother was, and ask if she could tell us apart.
I wish I was kidding.
20 years later, I find it funny that history has begun to repeat itself. With Sissy.
Sissy has heard her entire life that she looks like me. As her personality began to emerge, she heard the she was JUST LIKE ME. Because she is. This comes as no surprise, really. I am JUST like my mother too.
Recently, Sissy has become OBSESSED with being my twin. Especially if we are going to be in public. Therefore, Tuesdays and Thursdays have become my designated uniform days. My outfit is carefully chosen for me the night before, and consists of jeans, and one of 3 school fundraiser T-shirts that she and I both possess.
No, I'm not complaining. I don't think there is anything wrong with matching my daughter. Heaven knows that soon enough she will be embarrassed to be seen in public with me regardless of what I'm wearing. Plus, let's not forget that I AM still fascinated with twins, and wish that I would have had a twin sister growing up.
My only complaint is that going out in public was usually my excuse to get dressed up. It was my opportunity to get OUT of my jeans and T-shirt rut, and feel fancy.
However, nothing makes me feel more fancy and important than the look of jubilation on Sissy's face when I walk into her classroom dressed just like her.
Those fancy designers have nothin' on me...