O.K., I didn’t make up the term. A friend of mine who has triplets, identical twin girls and a fraternal sibling did. She used it as an all encompassing term for the supernatural bond that twins (usually identical) have. Early on as toddlers, it manifests as twinspeak. They carry on a conversation that no one else can understand, but they understand each other. Then it evolves into the more mundane, such as unwittingly dressing in the same clothes, or colors, not knowing what the other is wearing.
For instance, Buzzard almost always gets up in the morning before Roo. He will dress in cargo pants, and a red shirt and come downstairs. An hour later, Roo will get up, and when he comes downstairs, he will have on a pair of cargo pants, and a red shirt, either exactly identical (hey, there are only so many options for boys for clothing, and with three the same size, they inevitably end up with a couple of things that are identical) or incredibly similar. Enough to make everybody, including them laugh.
Oddly, my husband is an identical twin, and one year for Christmas, we picked out the exact same sweater for his father that his twin and his wife picked out–and we lived in different states! So I’m not unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Today, however, involved conversation that made me do a double take.
Roo came home today with what I think is the flu. He went straight to bed, and went to sleep. When I went back to pick up Buzzard from the tutor, I mentioned to the teacher that Roo may not be in school, as I thought he may have the flu.
“Do you think Roo really has the flu?” Buzzard asked on the way home.
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out tomorrow when I take him to the doctor.” I said.
“So, if I get the flu, it will be the first time,” he says.
“No, you had the flu once when you were younger.”
“Well, that doesn’t count, ’cause I can’t remember it,” he replies.
“But you still had it,” I say, amused at his reasoning.
“Yeah, but I can’t remember.”
Fair enough. We come home, and I go upstairs to check on Roo, and have the following conversation.
“So, do you think I have the flu?” He asks.
“I don’t know, but it seems so,” I say.
“So, if I do, this will be the first time I’ve had the flu,” he says.
“No, you had it once when you were younger,” I say, feeling like deja vu.
“Well, I can’t remember it, so it doesn’t count,” he replies as though this should have been obvious.
I stared at him for a moment or two, then laughed. Creepy twin thing indeed.