By Guest Blogger Diaper Diva

I met my husband in the personals of Timeout magazine.
I can’t remember what his ad said exactly. I know that he mentioned that he was an architect which I found appealing. We met the following day for lunch and married one year later.

We  took the subway to Park Slope three days after getting engaged to  look for an apartment.
I had spent a lot of time in Park Slope, but it never looked more  beautiful to me than the day we found our Co-Op; we knew we had found the home we had both longed for. We married the following October.

Living in Park Slope near my twin has been  both wonderful and unnerving.
We hadn’t lived in the same borough for a long time, and I had forgotten how often we can be mistaken for one another.
Since she has lived here far longer, it was usually me who was mistaken for her.
At one point I thought of  wearing  a button that said, "I’m not my sister".

I found myself becoming irritated by the constant confusion. I began to really hate when people said that we looked exactly alike, and stared at us as if they had seen a UFO
Well, not exactly, I  would try to explain.

And it’s not like I don’t want to look like my sister,  after all we are identical twins, but if you really look: We are quite  different.

I’ve always hated being confused with my twin. When we were growing up, some of  our relatives referred to us as "the twins",  and didn’t seem particularly interested in distinquishing  between us.
So living in the same borough has brought back some of my earlier disdain for not being recognized for who I am.

To Be Continued…