Help the Aged.

Today I’ve been mistaken for Zoë’s sister for the second time. It’s rather weird, as our families couldn’t be less related if we tried.

The first time, really the people should have known better. We were at Zoë’s sister’s wedding, and some of her relatives actually sidled up and struck up a conversation in which it quickly became apparent that they thought I was Zoë. How strange. I had to politely point out their error, but it did leave me wondering whether we were alike.

Today it was a cashier in the Co-op as we were buying such essentials in life as bogroll. In some ways I find the implications something to wonder about. You see, whilst two people have made it plain now that they thought we were sisters because we looked alike. That may well mean that a lot of other people thought it but never voiced it.

Does this mean that I am attracted to myself? Actually, we look at each other and in the mirror and know that in our minds we are completely different. But there are similarities, I suppose. It almost goes a little way towards the dangerously Freudian territory of fancying Mothers. Well, luckily I’m not there yet.