My sister was born on the 7th of September 1962 at 3am. I popped out 7 minutes later. There are several differences between us (most notably our gender) Sis is a slender 4ft 11ins to my chunky 5ft 8ins; she has a full head of long, blonde hair and I follow the “moss doesn’t grow on a busy street” styling.
So when we met people and they ask us if we are identical, the answer - what part of the word “identical” are you struggling with – is replaced with a polite smile and a simple no.
One of my favourite occasions when someone questioned the nature of our twin-ness (I’m a writer, I’m allowed to make words up) was when Sis introduced me to a new neighbour.
‘Hi’, says Sis, this is my twin brother. The neighbour and I exchange smiles and shake hands. Her hand hangs from her wrist like a limp fish. At least its dry I think as I shake it.
‘You don’t look much alike for twins,’ says the neighbour, displaying her finely tuned powers of observation.
‘We used to,’ answers Sis totally unmindful that I am standing beside her, ‘before Michael lost his hair and put on all that weight.’
