Oh, the joys of being a twin. I live a life not many others get to. Well, not many others as in 97% of 8.025 billion people in the world. So if you do that math, I live a very similar life to 240 million people, but who’s counting?

With being a twin, I deal with many strange questions. I’ve been asked the questions I am about to address all of my life, and I will continue to be asked them, so I just want to get this all out in the open. My hope is to make it easy for the public to understand my level of twinning. So let us start, shall we?

First, there’s the age old question: Are you identical? Well, here’s my answer: Yes. My twin brother and I are identical boy/girl twins. He stole my face, and I stole his humor. I got his stupid broad shoulders, and he got my good hair (although I’d argue I wear it better). My mother had to tie ribbons on our wrists just to tell us apart! But have we ever tried to pull a switcheroo? No. He’s too much of a goody two-shoes for that.

Shortly following that past question is always the question of, “Who is older?” Well, let me tell you. Neither of us are older. We popped out at the exact same time. My parents tell me that the nurses said we were locked in an arm wrestle when we came out and that the first one to cry was the one that lost that arm wrestle. They won’t tell us who it was though. Something about hierarchy and us “not being equal” was the reason behind that, but that’s ridiculous, right? Because we are identical!

Now that we’ve made it past the two most basic questions, it’s time to get into the real meat and potatoes of what it is like to be a twin. Have you ever heard of a little thing called twin telepathy? Well, it’s real! It’s truly the best part of being a twin, in my opinion. We’ll just chat all day about any hot gossip at school, and no one is the wiser! Or – and this is my favorite part – I’ll track my twin brother’s location, and whenever he is at Culver’s or Dairy Queen, I’ll tell him to get me some ice cream. And guess what? Ten minutes later, I will have an ice cream cone in my hand. I bet all of the regular, boring people are missing out.

I didn’t always have to be a twin, though. In the womb, I was presented with the opportunity to eat my other half (as all twins are). I remember that day because it was horrible. I don’t recommend trying to eat your twin in the womb. It tasted awful. Now that could’ve just been my brother (you know how boys are -nasty creatures, really), but trust me, just don’t do it. It’s not worth it. The taste still lingers. It haunts me. 

Now let me tell you what isn’t true. We did not speak our own language to each other when we were little. That would be absurd. There is not an evil twin (as much as I would believe it is my brother, but let’s be realistic). And we are not joined at the hip (that is a phenomenon called conjoined twins – honestly, do your research). 

All this to say that I love being a twin. It’s one of the most interesting things about me, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Unless you can offer me my own birthday, then we might have a deal. I’d get my own cake, and how I love cake. Anyway, seriously, I love being a twin. Normal people are boring. So next time you think you’re boring, just ask yourself, “Why don’t I become a twin?” And then realize that isn’t an option, and you must remain boring.