Oh Lordy, the psychic powers. Seemed nearly everyone in high school who found out my bro and I were twins asked us about a “psychic connection.” One day we got tired of it and worked out a routine to fool the next person who asked us the question. It worked. And no, we have no connection. He and I are so different both physically and personality-wise that we don’t even seem related.
Speaking of which, I wish people would stop the googly-eyed stares when I introduce Jeff as my twin brother. (I have an older brother and have to differentiate between the two) Yes, Jeff and I are very different. He is tall and slender, like a poplar. I am short and sturdy, like a stump. He is bronzed, I am a corpse-white. He is brunette, I am blonde. Our facial features are nothing alike.
We get it.
I especially get it from those who unkindly compare me to my brother. It’s not his fault, though, it’s the douchebags who make the comments. Genetics suck.
Something else which sucks is sharing a birthday-- specifically, having to agree on what cake to get and what restaurant to go to.
Also, enduring fetal development with a womb hog.
I will, however, give kudos to our Mom, who did her darndest to make sure we developed seperate identities and personalities. Boy, did it work.