I really don’t have an evil twin. It just feels like it some days. And then there’s this: I think an evil twin would come in handy.
Of course, I would endow her with a complex persona, not just character flaws and secret longings. She’d be my polished pinch-hitter (for whatever I dislike), my cocky counterpart (in tough fights), my wiser worldly self (on days I’m not up to the challenge).
My travel twin?
The fact is, if I had an identical twin, I’d insist she take care of all the dreaded travel issues. Yes, yes, I know – I love to travel – or at least I used to. And still do, under the right circumstances. But how many of us get to voyage first class, glammed-out, and only to luxurious locations?
When travel isn’t for fun, when I’m not at the top of my game, when no matter where I look I can’t find a single Ziploc bag . . .
You bet I’d turn things over to the travel twin, to a cooler, calmer, hardier version of myself. In lieu of that, it’s a stiff drink to steady my thready nerves through airport check-in, security lines, scheduling delays, lifting luggage, searching for shuttle buses, and all the other tiresome details involved in getting from Point A to Point B.
Contradictions, contradictions
Yes, I am the same woman who says that traveling with little ones isn’t that bad. (It isn’t, but I was younger then.)
Yes, I am the same woman who boards a plane for Paris at the drop of a chapeau – or better yet – the delicate heel, like some Franco-styled Cinderella who will strut her stuff along rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré. 
Yes, c’est moi.
Or perhaps that’s my identical twin. The one who wasn’t still packing at 3 a.m., the one whose son wasn’t still packing long after, the one who isn’t rushing for a grueling trip with too much baggage, no room for stilettos, and no exotic destination. So is 8 a.m. too early for a travel toddy? An Excedrin avec espresso martinis? A wistful realization that today will be tiring, but tomorrow may be wonderful once my son is transported and settled at his summer study program?
Flight of fancy
At this moment, I’m stressed and pressed and wishing I could call upon my twin to chillax, go with the flow, find her reserves of strength and just do it.
Perhaps on the return flight, I’ll close my eyes and imagine I’m headed to France after all. To the Left Bank, a cozy flat, a glorious Frenchman with open arms just waiting to welcome me, a week or two with no worries, no cooking, no dramas. Only walking, reading, writing, eating, sipping, speaking the language I love, and speaking the language of love.
Oh, let it be me, and not my twin, savoring the pleasures of that particular journey. . .
And if you had a twin – how would you use her?
My aunts are identical twins, once in high school one of them made two dates for the same night. She sent her twin in her place and the guy never knew the difference! I also have identical twin neighbors who worked at the same place during college, they often swapped shifts and no one was ever the wiser. It would be so weird yet so fun to have a twin!
It would be strange to have a twin, especially an identical twin – but I think it would also be sort of amazing. I knew twins in high school who used to pull off amazing little tricks, just by changing the parts in their hair (the only way you could distinguish them, normally).
My 22 year old daughter is very close in looks to my 34 year old half sister. I know, weird. At calling hours for my father, one of the sister’s friends – yes, I said friends – thought my daughter was my sister. I was laughing so hard.
To clean the house – to perfection! To empty the dishwasher and grind the coffee. To put the laundry away. All these funny chores that take less than 5 minutes, but I despise anyway.
I would make mine do all the drudge work and I would do all the fun stuff. Would that make *me* the evil twin?
I hope you have a safe and uneventful trip – unless, that is, it’s the good kind of eventful…you know, a handsome stranger in a hotel lobby bar…his eyes locking on yours across a crowded room…
My twin? She’d do the housework, baby. The worst diaper blowouts. And the talking to telemarketers…and my inlaws. 😉
My twin would get out of bed super early and work out everyday for thirty days. My mind and body love yoga but my not-getting-any-younger metabolism could use an ass kicking.
Housework, diapers, exercise. . . All good! No space travel? Daring sexcapades? Tell off the mother-in-law who’s been mean for years?
There was a guy who went to my college who my roommate always insisted looked exactly like me. Some of my other friends joined in on the joke and so he was always known (but not to him) as my twin. He never helped me pack, study or do anything, but one night he did help me out with a little favor. My roommate was, let us say, in an altered state of consciousness and I thought it would be amusing to call in the twin. I approached him and told him his doppelganger role in my life (we both agreed that we were not at all twins—we could ourselves apart) and invited him to return to my room and act as if he were me.
Finally, the joke was on my roommate, who was soon practically begging my twin to stop whatever it was he was doing in pretending to be me. I seem to recall that after that I had a cordial relationship with my twin (who’s probably paying my bills right now, only for things I didn’t know I bought). Meanwhile my roommate never again insisted that there went my twin.
My twin would write my book for me. Brilliant, witty, and perfect. Is that too much to ask?
Good one, Amber! Then you write the one after?