All my life I've been plagued by comments from strangers and/or people I've just met:
"Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"Haven't we met before?"
"Are you sure you don't recognize me?"
And the answers are always no, no, and (sheepish look) should I?
Over the years, I've learned to shrug and chalk up each exchange to having one of "those" faces, always secretly wondering just exactly whom my mug might be channeling.
I have a friend who looks almost exactly like Norah Jones. And a sister who everyone swears is the spitting image of Marissa Tomei.
I, apparently, look exactly like the Excedrin girl:
I know, I know. Uncanny, right?
Vain delusions about celebrity look-alikes aside, I am now confronted with a much more pressing issue: either I've been pimping over-the-counter painkillers in my sleep or...there's someone else out there walking around with *my* face. I'd like to think that, even unconscious, I'd have enough business sense (not to mention raw animal magnetism) to peddle wares with just a little more sex-appeal. Like...J-ello. Or tires. (Hawt!) Which leads me to but one conclusion:
I have an evil twin.
Okay, so I don't *know* that she's evil. But, hello, I wasn't born yesterday. I've seen enough soap operas and science-fiction films to know that the long-lost twin is *always* evil. Sure, sure, I know there are extenuating circumstances (blahblahblah) and exceptions to every rule, but, let's face it. On this issue, Hollywood has spoken. The case is officially closed.
Which leads me to the obvious question...what to do with this information? I suppose I could confront my mother. Face to face. Ask her what happened to this person of whom I know so little and with whom I share so much. Demand an explanation for 29 years of deception and secrecy. But being that she (my mom) is out of the country right now--and that she will inevitably claim to have no idea what I'm talking about--that course of action seems rather...impractical at the moment. Plus, I'm not very good at confrontation.
So then there's the question of contacting Evil Twin...
Yeah, I tried. She's shooting a Swiffer commercial right now, so I left a message. I'm sure she'll call me back.
Meanwhile, I suppose there's nothing left to do but make peace with the fact that a stranger is making money with *our* profile. (Gah! Why didn't *I* think of that?) Oh, and don't worry, I'm not stupid. I'm also taking preventative measures. Now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak, if you should find me doing something totally out of character--like, I don't know, ironing, wearing socks with sandals, or lifting heavy boxes...you'll know why.
P.S. I think I need some Excedrin. (That clever minx is good, isn't she?)