(Bonnie is still having computer issues so she finally set this to me so I could post it. I had to take time from my school work to do so. Again, sincere apologies for being so late.)
A couple of times in
this last week, I went out with my hair down, and both times someone commented
on my beautiful long hair then asked how I take care of it.
Huh? What is so hard
about taking care of long hair? And my hair isn’t that long; barely even past
my shoulder blades, not to my waist, yet. I believe Konnie’s hair is longer,
and I know that one of her daughters has way longer hair!
But the point is, it
doesn’t require special care beyond putting it up in a braid or ponytail at
night. Washing might take a little more shampoo, but it's still shampoo. And it’s
still conditioner too. Why would anyone think it takes special care to have
long hair?
I have had both long
and short hair, and I have seen no difference other than ponytails and braids
are out when your hair is short.
Honestly, asking about
how to take care of long hair is as ridiculous as asking, “What’s it like to be
a twin?”
No. It's worse. Because
anyone can grow their hair long or cut it off short. I’ve had both hairstyles,
anyone can. But I can’t know what it is like not to be a twin, because no
matter what, I am a twin.
I’ve said this before.
I do have other
siblings, but my relationship with them, somewhere in there, includes that I
have a doppelganger right in my own family. It includes that someone else in my
family shares my exact same birthday.
I’d say about the only
people who see me as a unique individual don’t know about Konnie.
Sure, we have different
personalities and different temperaments, but we are alike in so many things.
And let’s not forget the mirror opposite part.
We are so alike that
growing up I couldn’t stand when Mr. Rogers sang, “You are special, you’re the
only you, . . .”
Hate to break it to
you, sir, but my look-alike is sitting next to me.
Of course, Mr. Rogers
couldn’t see through the TV and I don’t think he ever dealt with the issue of
identical twins. At least I don’t remember any such episode. Then again, I
didn’t watch Mr. Rogers that often because I hated that song!
Sure, there is only one
Bonnie, but Bonnie and Konnie look an awful lot alike!
Which reminds me of a
story I once read in Reader’s Digest. It was about a set of identical twins who
both worked for the same company (ergo they wore the same uniform) and at one
point some tourist quizzed both of them on their upbringing, where they were
born and such, and he insisted they memorized rote answers to the questions
because they said the same thing!
They were identical
twins.
Konnie and I can do share
vital stats. Ours were identical until we graduated from high school and subsequently
got married and started having children. But come on, we were born in the same
hospital, in the same town, on the same day, to the same parents! We also went
to all the same schools, right up until Konnie switched colleges, but we didn’t
start attending college at the same time because I stayed home for a year after
graduating from high school to help out while our stepmother went back to
school to become an RN.
But, since we were
behind in school, that meant for the twenty years of our life our information
was pretty much identical unless you count that we didn’t take all the same
classes.
And we did have
different experiences.
It was Konnie, not me,
who had trouble with her locker mate in seventh grade; my problem that year was
an over-amorous 9th grader who seemed to think both of us were me
until he finally saw us together!
In 8th grade, the issue was a guy I knew saying hi to who he thought was me, and of course, Konnie ignored him. I’ve told that story before.
And that year I also
had trouble with a teacher, who insisted on assigning seating, and refused
point-blank to change from an alphabetical arrangement when that put me in the
back of the room!
He insisted that since
I do wear glasses, I shouldn’t have a problem seeing from back there. I tried to
point out I was the shortest student in the class, but he refused to listen to me.
That is until he caught me leaning out into the aisle to see what he was
writing on the board.
Not that he figured out
the issue even then. He didn’t get it until I pointed to row in front of me,
saying, “They’re all taller than me!”
And my classmates took
my side.
Anyway, happy writing
everyone!
