Twin Problems by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Several times in the last few weeks I’ve had occasion to pull up a picture on my phone that my nephew took of his mother and sent to me. On most of those occasions it went something like this:

I show the person I’m talking to the picture.

Them: That’s a nice picture of you.

Me: No, it isn’t.

Them: That’s a really nice picture!

Me: Yeah. But it’s not of me.

Them: Oh.

The only exception to this scenario is one woman who scanned the picture then faced me and said, “That’s not you, is it?”

“Good eye. It isn’t me.”

She confessed she didn’t think it was me because of the different glasses, but still, not many people noticed any differences between that picture and me. Confronted with the two of us together is another issue.

Sometimes I wonder how her family can tell us apart, but not even her husband never had any problems telling us apart.

The first time he set eyes on me, I was sitting on his couch in his apartment holding his then-infant eldest daughter in my arms, and he still knew I wasn’t his wife at first glance!

Nice.

Though I admit later visits with Konnie didn’t go so well. I can’t remember if it was May or Melinda, but prior to my visiting Konnie had warned me that this little darling only ever wanted her momma and would rarely even go to her father.

However, the second I walked into their apartment, she instantly reached for me. I gladly took her into my arms and hugged her. She was all fine and dandy with me holding her until she realized I didn’t have mother nature’s milk supply for her and she screamed bloody murder!

Another time, some years later, I’d just gotten off the phone from talking to Konnie when a few minutes before when my phone rang again. I answered and a small child happily said, “Hi, Mommy.”

Excuse me?

Talk about a heart-stopping moment!

Eventually, I got the kid to hang up and I called Konnie back.

Turns out, a certain little tyke had thought his mother had her cell phone on her while she was in the bathroom, and he’d also thought the last number dialed on their landline was that cell phone.

How wrong he was!

Again, he doesn’t make that mistake anymore. Though all of her family consider it weird when they enter a room while Konnie is talking to me with her speaker on. One time I heard Konnie giggle for no seeming reason then one of her kids said, “Oh, that’s Aunt Bonnie.”

It seems they had temporarily been nonplussed at hearing their mother’s voice coming from her phone.

I guess it was something like the time years ago when I’d been busy in the bathroom when my phone rang. I hurried to get it knowing as I did that it was Konnie. The answering machine, which was downstairs picked up first, but I got on the line upstairs and told her I was there. We talked for a while but I never went to the kitchen to erase our conversation from the answering machine.

Honestly hadn’t had time with all I was doing that day.

Anyway, when Tom got home from work, he noticed there was a message and, while wondering why there was a message when I’d been home all day, he played it.

Him: You talked to yourself on the phone?

His confusion was evident on his face, because after all, how could I manage that!

That memory is still as funny as the day it happened, but honestly, listening to that tape, the only way I could tell who was talking was by what was being said.

We’re identical after all. And our blind counselor in high school couldn’t tell us apart because our voices are so identical. Let alone that our own father could rarely manage to tell us apart until we managed to land such polar opposite husbands!

That’s not Konnie if she’s standing next to the tall one!

Though I admit, Dad had no trouble knowing it was me when I was entering the kitchen at a time when a meal didn’t need to be cooked or dishes didn’t need to be done, because at least once it was him who announced to the rest of the family, “Bonnie’s baking!”

Causing a stampeded to the kitchen while I’m still pulling the flour out!

And it's not like Konnie can’t bake. I have no idea why he could make that distinction, because, like I said, most of the time, he couldn’t tell the difference at all.

Such is life as identical twins. Just remember this the next time you have such characters in your WIP.

Happy writing, everyone!

Winter Driving by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Last Wednesday morning, like every weekday for the last month or so, I left the house before nine in the morning in order to give a cousin a ride. So, at about five minutes to the hour, when my phone rang, I was driving. I tried giving it to our cousin to answer, but he didn’t know about having to click on the “I’m not driving” button, the call went through to voicemail.

No matter.

I knew it was Konnie before I even glanced at the screen. It was Wednesday after all, and it was her turn to post. Konnie calling made sense.

As soon as I dropped him off, I called Konnie before I got on the road again. We talked, we posted (which I can do from my phone), and I returned home. No problem. No big deal. Pretty routine.

Until a few hours later when an old high school friend posted about roads being closed in southeastern Idaho due to a major storm blowing through. Konnie’s response was, “And my sister was driving in that?”

LOL!

Talk about showing how different we are!

And I’m not talking about the fact that I live in Idaho and she lives in Vegas, though that has something to do with it. It has to do with several things. Starting with the fact that Konnie learned to drive while she lived in Tennessee. I learned to drive right here in Idaho.

Konnie once went flying off an icy overpass, and now refuses to drive in any amount of snow. As a newlywed, I ended up in a ditch because of icy roads, but that hasn’t put me off driving in this kind of weather. I am cautious but not scared.

Konnie lives where snowfall would be national news. Around here, we can get snowstorms anywhere from October to April. Meaning, you either learn to drive in this stuff, or you head south for seven months out of the year, or like Konnie, permanently.

My final point is, Konnie seems to have forgotten how much further north our old high school friend lives. Southeastern Idaho isn’t a small area, and believe me, Pocatello never gets hit as hard as I.F., Rigby, and Rexburg. All towns at higher elevations and further north than here.

In other words, what our old high school friend was dealing with wasn’t anywhere near as bad as what I was dealing with, not even close.

In fact, said friend’s husband posted a picture of their snow-covered front yard over the weekend when here in Pocatello we were wondering if spring had come early. When I got home from church Sunday my yard was a muddy mess, when I got up Monday morning it was snowing again. Yeah, winter likes to play jokes on us.

And Konnie, it was barely even more than a skiff, so don’t panic, you know I can drive in this stuff!

At any rate, I got a good laugh last Wednesday, and so did our cousin when I told him about Konnie’s panic. We are so different.

Though I’d have to say that we were always very different, probably why I hate all those twins switching places stories. There is just no way. It wouldn’t work.

I would be lost in her world, and frankly couldn’t cope with all her problems, and she would be lost in mine. We couldn’t even manage switching places way back in grade school, because our routines were so different.

The one time we tried that, we were figured out within minutes. Today, it would be seconds, since her family can tell us apart. If Tom were still alive, he could tell us apart too. There is just no fooling them.

And, even if everyone we know didn’t know we’re twins, which they do know, I doubt we could pull one over on them, because well, I couldn’t pick all of Konnie’s friends out of a crowd any more than she could pick all of mine. Someone somewhere would figure it out.

Which is why I find all those twins switching places stories so unbelievable. It just wouldn’t work, not in the real world. All those minute details add up to a ton of chances to be found out.

Anyway, happy writing everyone, and safe driving!

Identical Twin Issues By Bonnie Le Hamilton

I know I wrote a post several years ago about an incident where I greeted one of our uncles at a time and place Konnie couldn’t have been and he called me Konnie. I still clearly remember glaring at him and saying, “What did you call me?”

Well that happened long before Tom died, so its been years since I’ve been mistaken for Konnie.

There was a more recent experience where an old friend from high school spotted me and asked me if I was Bonnie or Konnie. So not quite the same thing.

And I certainly thought since Konnie lives so far away, that such incidents would be few and far between and only happen around people who know both of us, like say an uncle or an old classmate. I never once considered it would happen where I am living now, even though Konnie has been to visit me here, but it has now happened.

The set up starts with the fact that we had a visitor in Relief Society from another ward who happens to be named Connie. This sister knew several members of our ward including the teacher.

At one point, Connie made a comment and I raised my hand to make a comment too. Once Connie was done speaking, the teacher turned to me and said, “You had a comment, Connie?”

I stared at her, way too stunned for a second, and I almost said, “Konnie isn’t here.” But since Connie and Konnie are pronounced the same, and there was a Connie in the room, I simply said, “Um, I’m Bonnie.”

She apologized and well, I couldn’t help it, I said, “But my twin isn’t even here!”

Everyone laughed and we got on with the lesson, but I’m still stunned by it.

Yeah, she has met Konnie. Her and her mom usually sit right in front of where I sit in the chapel. And Konnie was here for a visit way back in September. I just didn’t expect someone who barely knew Konnie existed to call me Konnie!

It also illustrates what it's like to be a mirror twin, at least on one level.

Very few people can tell us apart.

And that isn’t limited to people who don’t know us well, since, after all, our uncle has known us our entire lives. The same could be said for our father, who always had trouble telling us apart until the day he died.

The last time I spoke to him on the phone, he didn’t realize which of his twins he was talking to until I mentioned Tom. That’s right, at the end of his life, he was telling us apart by our husband. You absolutely can’t confuse Tom and Jerry.

(And for all those who used to watch the old Tom & Jerry cartoons, I promise the analogy fits.)

But while some people who have known us our entire lives have trouble telling us apart others with much shorter association with us have no trouble telling us apart. Starting with our stepmother, who never seemed to have a problem.

But as I sit here thinking about every time I’ve been mistaken for Konnie, I remember something that happened clear back in 9^th grade. Maybe I’ve mentioned it before.

The time when I was looking for Konnie and a friend saw me and said something about me changing fast. I looked her right in the eye and said, “Wrong one. And where did you see her last?”

It took her a second to remember, but she did and I eventually found Konnie.

Anyway, that is life as an identical twin in a nutshell. Very few people can tell you apart.

Which explains the incident back in our high school marriage and family class where we told the teacher we couldn’t decide what our top priority for a future husband was. It was either they could tell us apart or were members of our church.

She said, “Well, considering how religious you two are, I’d said a member of your church.”

We glanced at each other than faced her and in unison said, “You’re not a twin.”

And I promise only an identical twin can understand the need to have people around them who can tell the difference between them and their twin.

And I will always cherish the time when Tom walked up to Konnie for the very first time and said, “Hello, you must be Konnie. Where’s Bonnie?”

But equally nice is the first time Jerry ever set eyes on me. He walked into his own living room and saw me sitting on his couch holding his infant daughter and said, “Hello there, where’s my wife?”

And they are both members!

Happy writing everyone!

I'm not her by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Sometimes I wish Konnie lived closer, but other times I remember what is was like when we both lived in Idaho Falls. There were a few interesting situations.

Like the time the sales clerks at the grocery store we both used were convinced one of their regular customers had two husbands right up until the time Konnie went to the grocery store, with her whole family, to do their major grocery shopping. Less than an hour later I ran into the same store alone to buy a couple gallons of milk.

We ended up using the same sales clerk to check out, and she was confused with my purchase, because she was pretty sure I bought some less than an hour earlier.

I smiled. “Tell me something, did she happen to have a very short husband with her?” She nodded, still not sure what going on.

“It wasn’t me. My husband’s a foot taller than me.”

At which point she announced to all her coworkers. “They’re twins! Its not one woman with two different husbands its two women!”

Let’s make this clear, NONE of those workers ever considered the possibility of identical twins. A female bigamist, they considered, identical twins, never crossed their minds.

Then there’s the time I was shopping in the store, using an electric cart, and a woman I didn’t know came up to me, all concerned, asking if I was okay, and wondering why I was using the cart, because I seemed perfectly fine when she’d seen earlier that day, then she mentioned the school where Konnie’s two oldest daughters were attending at the time.

“Uh, not me. But I’ll tell her high for you!”

And I think I’ve mentioned before the time in eighth grade, when a friend of mine suddenly stopped talking to me. I couldn’t figure out why so the first chance I got, I confronted him about why he no longer so much as said hi to me.

He informed me he’d said hi to me the other day in the halls and I ignored him.

“Where and when?”

“Between sixth and seventh, down by the gym.”

Well, my sixth and seventh period classes were clear on the other end of the school, which I pointed out to him. He said, “I saw you.”

“Oh, I believe you saw somebody who looked a lot like me, but strangely she wasn’t wearing what I had been wearing in our class that morning, was she?”

“Huh?”

“I’m a twin, and she has seventh period gym.”

Once when I was still in Tacoma, while Konnie was away at Ricks College in Idaho, a friend of mine and I were heading into our church to attend a dance. Well, there were several people standing just outside the entrances chatting. We didn’t know any of them, so we started to move past them toward the door.

But as I passed one of the guys grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t I know you? Weren’t you in . . .” he named a class, “at Ricks last semester?”

“No, but I’ll tell her hi for you.” I think it was actually the first time I used that statement.

I might add, my friend had never actually met Konnie, but I’d told her about her, so she knew when the guy mentioned Ricks what was going on; she had a hard time containing her glee while I explained to the fellow why the girl who had been in his class wasn’t me.

Between her giggles she said, “I know you told me about her, but I never thought . . .”

Though I’m not quite sure what she never thought because she couldn’t stop laughing long enough to spit it out. I’m telling you, every time she tried to finish her sentence, she cracked up again. I gave up. However, I think I can guess.

She never considered we were so identical that someone could mistake me for her.

Come on. People who know both of us can get us mixed up! Including our dad, who relied on our stepmother to tell us apart until we grew up and married when he told us apart by our husbands.

Which was easy because they were as different as night and day, or rather, a cat and mouse. My nearly six-foot man was Tom, and her barely 5’4” man is Jerry. Yip, that’s right, their names are Tom and Jerry. Dad got quite a few chuckles from it.

Happy writing everyone!

Stubborn by Bonnie Le Hamilton

With Labor Day right around the corner, I find my thoughts turning to a certain someone who entered this world on Labor Day many moons ago. Enough time has passed since that day that said little boy is now the father of a teenager, but when I was a junior in high school, he was the little imp I wrote the following anecdote about.

* * *

The bus pulled up in front of our house, and as I got off, I could hear Patty giggling, and Ben yelling excitedly that the bus was here, but the one I heard most was Danny’s jubilant, “De! De!”

I knew that when I opened the front door, he’d be there to greet me with the same cry as always, “Hi, De!”

Pesky stubborn old rat anyway.

Sure enough as I opened the door, he bounds off the last step and flies into my arms, loaded down with books, and nearly toppling me over. “Hi, De,” is all he says as he gives me a great big hug and kiss.

“Dan, I love you, but I’m not De!” Then I gladly hand him over to the girl behind me.

Why don’t I ever come in the garage door, so Konnie can get attacked?

Danny gives Konnie the identical greeting, but he’s not satisfied. Five minutes later, he wants a drink and can’t find anyone who isn’t busy? So what does he do? Simple, he picks up his cup and trots in the living room, where I’m on the couch reading, and tugging on my pant leg, begs, “De, De, dink, peas.” And he shoves the cup up to me.

This time I get smart. “Konnie, Danny wants you to get him a drink.”

But to no avail. When Konnie tries to get him, and the cup, into the kitchen, he pulls away and, pointing to me, yells, “No, dat De!”

Dag blain brat anyway!

“All right, I’ll get it. But I’m not Konnie!”

This still isn’t the end for today. When Ben comes in my room to tell me Mom wants me to peel potatoes, he’s right behind Ben calling, “De.”

This isn’t her room.

“Just a second, Ben.” I ignore Danny.

All through dinner, he calls everyone by the name he uses for them after someone else says their name.

“Pass the potatoes please, Bonnie.”

“De, De, De.”

“Pass the Kool-Aid please, Bryon.”

“Be, Be, Be.”

“Hand me the beans please, Konnie.”

“De, De, De.”

If I recall correctly, when Ben was Danny’s age, he could tell us apart, he just couldn’t talk. I’m not sure I’m glad Danny can hear.

* * *

J Anyway, Happy birthday, Dan. I love you. And I’m glad you finally learned my name.

Happy writing everyone. J

Twin Stories by Bonnie Le Hamilton

The other day I saw, and shared, a post on Facebook 13 Insane Identical Twin Stories That Are Almost Too Funny To Believe http://www.rugzee.com/13-insane-identical-twin-stories-that-are-almost-too-funny-to-believe/. The only thing is, I didn’t find them funny or unbelievable.

In all but three instances in the whole article, similar things have happened to Konnie and me. The only exceptions were waving hi to our reflection (at least I’ve never done that, and Konnie’s never mentioned doing it either, so I’m assuming she hasn’t either), the intentionally switching to cheat stories (We never did that! Ever, would never have considered it.), and the boyfriend kissing the wrong twin one. (It’s a good thing too, since the first time I ever saw my brother-in-law, due to my husband being stationed clear across the country, they were already parents.)

Thankfully, the only time either Tom, or Jerry, have mixed us up was on the phone, and each time we can forgive them because in both those instances they were expecting the other twin to answer. Yeah, they got it wrong, but it was understandable.

And the closest we’ve come to a teacher mixing us up was that one April Fool’s Day when the teacher kept thinking we’d switched places but what really happened was just days before she’d changed the seating putting me near Konnie’s old seat and Konnie in my old seat. Or that time when I signed up for a class taught by a guy Konnie knew, who had asked her to take the class, but she couldn’t because of her work schedule.

When I walked in the class, he thought Konnie had made it after all and said so, calling me Konnie, and I told him, “Actually, I’m Bonnie.”

At which point he thought he’d been calling Konnie by the wrong name all along and sincerely apologized. Konnie’s roommate, who was with me, stepped in to inform him that he hadn’t until that minute met me and Konnie was indeed at work.

 And as for the intentionally switching to cheat scenario, we never did that, We did get accused of cheating once, but that wasn't a “switching places” tale, that was a “we’re twins, and we communicate with just a glance” tale. I looked at her and got the answer, and everybody who witnessed it knows I got the answer from just glance at Konnie. It happened. But I’d hardly call that cheating, since it was clearly accidental.

And I’m certain I’ve related that story before too. If I haven’t, just let me know.

Anyway, on a whole every story in the article is believable, since for the most part, similar things have happened to Konnie and me.

In fact, I’d say all those stories are common. Frankly, I would think stories of Twin ESP, which is a real thing, since that is how we got accused of cheating, would be more unbelievable than any of the common occurrences in the article, though all of them would make good fodder for any story involving identical twins.

Happy writing everyone. 

The Downside of being a Twin by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Not too long ago yet another person learned I’m a twin, and, well, when this occurs one of two things happens. Said person either ask me what’s it like to be a twin, or comments something on the line of wishing they were a twin.

Now, I’ve mentioned my comeback for people asking me what’s it like to be a twin, but now I’d like to address why people really don’t want to be a twin.

The number one reason you don’t want to be a twin because people who know one of you, think they know both of you. In other words, people think I’m exactly like Konnie in personality. (Anyone who knows both of us can tell you otherwise.)

 The number two reason is that some people think it’s okay to give twins a gift to share. If you think it’s easier for twins to share than you don’t know any twins. I think it’s harder, probably because we have to share so much, starting with our names, people mixed us up a lot, but some of them resorted to just calling us “Onnie” since that worked for both of us.

And frankly, giving us one gift shows you know as little about us as those who gave us identical gifts. As I recall one birthday we each received a mini china tea set, a set of a jump rope and some jacks, a pair of pants, a dress, and a badminton set.

Konnie kept both tea sets, I kept the jump ropes and jacks and lamented that the pants were a size too small, I also don’t recall ever wearing that dress, except that day. Konnie loved that dress, and didn’t care for the badminton set. We’re not the same people.

Number three is you have to share a birthday with someone else. And yeah I know, everyone can find someone out there with the same birthday, but I’m not talking about finding someone with the same birthday, I’m talking about having that someone in the same house as you. And, in my case, I’m sharing a birthday with someone who likes German Chocolate cake. Now don’t get me wrong, I love chocolate, I just for the most part don’t like nuts in my deserts, and I can’t stand coconut or cherries. In other words, I can’t stand German Chocolate cake. You want to give me a cake, don’t make it that. I prefer Apple Spice cake with cream cheese frosting, but I will settle for any cake with buttercream frosting.

The other problem being that Konnie is shy, and while she didn’t mind boys at our birthday parties up until we were eight, after that she lobbied for a slumber party, and, of course, no boys. However, most of my friends (and often my best friend) was of the male variety.

I finally got tired of the ban on boys and insisted we plan separate parties. We turned nineteen that year, and she had her slumber party as always, though I think now she’d change her mind about that, finally.

And, when it comes to writing, I wish authors would show this side of being a twin, because, they don’t. The only book I’ve read that shows the down side of being a twin is “Jacob Have I Loved” by Katherine Patterson.

Does anyone know of any others? And please don’t give me any titles of books about twins taking the place of their twin, or books were one twin is bad and the other good. I hate those.

Happy writing everyone.