It has been remarked that Robert and I look astonishingly alike. Before Robert’s hair came in, a few playground wags struck by our resemblance called him Mini-Me. (Clever, these playground wags; loath to diminish Robert’s individuality, I prefer they call me Maxi-Him.)
I say this because yesterday afternoon the three of us were headed toward Union Square when we saw two stylish young gents, wearing matching pastel Lacoste shirts with upturned collars. They were chortling to themselves, and I caught this snippet of dialogue as they walked past: “Wait ’til she finds out that only one of them has a pituitary gland.”
At first, I was entranced by this conversational thread, wondering what sort of biological backstory could have preceded it. (Perhaps a couple of fashion-forward endocrinologists out for a Sunday stroll?) Then, an epiphany: Were they were talking about us? I kind of doubt it, but I can’t for the life of me come up with an alternate explanation. Occam’s Razor strikes again.
Any ideas out there? If so, please forward them below. In the meantime, it’s a lovely day, and Robert and I are headed off to throw water on each other. In our unmatched shirts.