Okay, so there I am at the greasy spoon place with a bunch of mommy friends. We are all talking and laughing and having a good time, when I spot this random woman (not part of our group) that looks EXACTLY like Christine, who is in our group. (Christine who is sitting right across from me, in fact.) I want to walk up to random woman and say, “Hey, do you mind walking over here because guess what—you look just like Christine and everyone will believe me more if you maybe stand next to Christine to prove it.” This scenario plays out in my head with random woman saying, “Sure, no problem, I completely understand and I am happy to cooperate,” whereas in real life, I know that A. I’d be utterly embarrassed to ask her, and B. one or the other (Christine or the impostor) would be somehow offended that they are compared to the other one because they would think that they are so much prettier/ skinnier/ tanner/ younger-looking than the other one.
Sigh. What’s a manic blogger-looking-for-new-material-for-her-next-blog to do?
I look at the real Christine. Then Impostor Christine. Now Real. Impostor. Real/Impostor. RealImpostor. Realpostor. Until the real and the other go from a tennis match of back and forth to morphing into one and the same.
The real Christine happens to look to her left, so I get a nice profile image of her. Impostor (who is kind of behind her and diagonal at another table) looks to her right. I close one eye, then the other. Blink. They are practically the same person.
Both have pale pale vampire skin (sorry, Christine, if you’re reading this: but it’s true). Both have teeny tiny ski-slope noses. Both are around 30 years old (my 42-year-old fingers have trouble typing that). Christine has blondish-brown hair though, and Impostor has more like brunette with soft blondish highlights.
Are they sisters? Shouldn’t Christine be inviting her clone to come sit with us?
This is tres tres bizarre. I want to tap on Sonya’s shoulder (Sonya is sitting to my left) and say, “Sonya: check it out—doesn’t that lady look exactly like Christine?” But the problem is, Christine is precisely in earshot (so close, in fact, that she might be able to hear me chewing my french fries) and she would hear me say that.
How would I feel if there was a MOV look-a-like sitting close by? I would be excited. I would ask if she had two sons and if she worked at a high-end kitchen store like me and if her favorite flavors were chocolate and more chocolate and then she could be my new best friend. Send MOV Imitator right over!
As it is, Fake Christine stands up (with her much-younger boyfriend) and walks out. How dare she leave when I haven’t had a chance to point her out to Authentic Christine yet!
My brain is spinning. Maybe this is all a dream? Maybe I am really at home in my comfy toasty bed and am dreaming about these people?
Just then, Sonya hands me $5. “I forgot, I owe you $5 from the last time we went out and I didn’t have enough money to tip!” she giggles. (This is how I know I am awake: no one in my dreams ever gives me money, owed or otherwise.) “Uh, okay, thanks,” I mutter semi-gratefully.
Now I pout. This is, I think, a funny story, a story I would actually tell my friend Christine (if it didn’t, you know, involve her directly). Now I have no one to tell it to.
Oh, hi there, Blog World!
(“Mysteries Of Vision”)