The “pity-look” is what I’ve designated for the look that my twin’s boyfriend of the time gives me when he sees me spending my Friday nights alone time and time again.
The “Hey-don’t-worry-Sarah-eventually-somebody-will-find-you-charming-enough-to-date-you-like-I-have-your-sister” look. I respond with my “I-really-don’t-give-a-shit-about-your-unsolicited-opinion” look. “Woah you’re going to buy me a drink and not my twin?
The upside of all this is that it forces twins to become relationship experts by default.
You can’t “break up” when things get hard — living under the same roof and sharing the same family and friends, you don’t really have a choice but to learn to figure things out.
We’ve pondered the question separately — Barbara in her research as a psychologist, Amanda in her writing — and discussed it together, and over time, we’ve landed on a working theory: Twins indulge the fantasy that it’s truly possible to have another half. As psychotherapist Vivienne Lewin, author of , “the idealization of the twin relationship is based on essential internal loneliness.” We all want to find someone who understands us intimately, and who better than someone you’ve known since before you were born?
“The myth of twinship,” Lewin argued, “is one of perfect companionship and understanding.” Not to burst anyone’s bubble, but the idea that twins typically share some sort of ideal relationship really a myth.
Especially in childhood, maintaining closeness and harmony between twins can be hard work.
You’ve seen each other on average three times a week that entire year. No seriously, I had been dating a guy for over a year.
So, in theory, he should know your name by now, right? Kath had a blind date the same night that I had a date with my boyfriend, and when his car pulled up, my twin sister, thinking it was the car of her blind date, got inside.