Irish Twins

Some of you have heard this story already…

For my sister’s 40th birthday, I decided to put together a scrap book of old photos from when she was a kid. Since my sis is only 11 months older than I am [awk, my wee Irish Twin], most of her kiddie pics inevitably include me somewhere in the shot. Which is only fitting since most of the time we were dressed. Exactly. The. Same. You see, my mother made all of our clothes. As in....measure the kids, cut the fabric, sit in front of the sewing machine…make the clothes. [Are you kidding me? I can barely get my blouse buttoned straight and mom made every single outfit my sister and I wore during the 1970s?? Who’s child am I, anyway?]

Mom would buy one sewing pattern and make two outfits from it [unfortunately, even though I was younger…I always had to have the pattern adjusted out] So starting when I was about 3 years old, all the photos of me and sis include the two of us dressed alike. Except in every picture, Nic always looks cute as a button…blonde little ponytails, ribbons to match her outfit, white bobby socks…adorable. I, on the other hand, would have on the same little gaucho outfit as Nic [remember gauchos??], except my collar would be inside my shirt, my hair would be sticking up over some cut in my forehead and Pony’s had replaced my patent leather shoes. We consistently looked like “before” and “after” models. In one picture I was even wearing shorts under the skirt mom had obviously forced me to wear [I was a skort prodigy].

Then in about 1980, it all comes to a grinding halt. Either I just got too big [not tall] to make outfits for or mom finally figured out she could save herself 14 hours of sewing by spending $1.99 on kids’ clothes at Wal-Mart. Either way, individuality reigned..…unfortunately. So there I am, in the picture from the 1980 neighborhood Christmas party wearing a tan leisure suit and brown paisley shirt collar. The shoes didn’t make the shot, but if I had to guess….Hush Puppies. Are you kidding me??? And some people think gayness is a choice. If so, I was a pretty decisive 9 year-old.

Thank god I didn’t go any further with the pics. I have a terrible memory of a 1981 Halloween costume that involved an FBI outfit that I don’t care to revisit.