What do you think, Mole?

I recently watched the documentary Twinsters during a sick day from work. If you don’t want to watch the trailer it’s essentially about a lady who is an actress who gets an email when she’s 25 years old from someone who is like, “Uh, I think you might be my twin”. They were both born in Korea and adopted to different families, one in the U.S. and the other in France. I don’t think its a spoiler to say they’re twins. Pretty clear from looking at them. What’s a trip is that they had no clue they had a twin until they were 25 years old.

What would you do if you found out you had an identical twin with a French accent? Actually wait. First what would you do if you found out you were adopted? And that you were Korean? And then, THEN, that you had an identical twin with a French accent?

Yours,
Ratty

Dearest Ratty,

Suffice it to say that this question really threw me for a loop. I like to think that I can handle whatever you throw at me, but in this case, Rats, I drew a big fat blank. I don’t know about having a twin. It’s nothing I’ve ever dreamt about. If I did have a twin, I would want her to be like me in the sense that she is basically a good person with a streak of immorality, that way we could trick people,  in all those cliché twin ways. Not much of an answer, I’m sorry. I tried to watch The Parent Trap with Lindsay Lohan for inspiration, but all I could think when I watched it, was, dag, what happened to Lindsay? So cute and full of promise then, so orange and husky voiced now.

Then I watched some of Twinsters and I found those two girls annoying. What does it say about movies these days, when so much of the plot revolves around Skype, texts and emojis? Sign o’the times, I guess.

I do keep seeing one part of your question that says, “what would you do if you found out you were adopted?” and I do love that question, because isn’t that something that we have all dreamed about when we’ve hated our parents? I certainly have. One unsuspecting night, there would be a knock at the door and the coolest, hippest mother -who looked just like me- would breeze past the impostor mother who made me wear my hair in pigtails and forbade me from going to sleepovers.  I would rush into her arms and say”thank god this horrible middle class nightmare is over, take me home to be with Pa and my loving family on the commune.” I used to have those dreams pretty much on the reg, the same way I used to dream about running away. I would carefully craft a letter detailing the reasons I had to leave (not enough of a Free to Be You and Me vibe in the house, German lessons after school and “ethnic”cuisine served at home…etc.,) and then I would make it as far as the backyard.

So, there you have it, one partially answered question.

Yours

Mole

 

 

 

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