"Which one are you?" he asked.
He has asked this at least three times since our single file line started walking. I have ignored each question, hoping someone around him would help him out.
This camper has been with us all summer. Baby A and I have explained the differences over and over and over again, since we get new campers often.
He has asked this approximately 300,000 times this summer.
I looked at him over my shoulder.
"This morning, I said that only one of us is here today. I told you which one I am." Baby A had to help out the camp for younger kids. This morning, I introduced myself to the whole group since we had a new camper, and I explained where Baby A was. Also, two seconds ago, another camper got my attention by saying MY NAME.
I turned around. I looked at him, head tilted, and not in a Snow-White-I'm-listening-to-the-forest-inhabitants sort of way.
"Uhhh... Well, which one are you?"
"You should know by now."
And then I turned around and continued leading the line.
I said it nicely, so don't think I'm some sort of evil camp counselor who terrifies poor children for fun.
I think I've made it clear here and IRL that Baby A and I are pretty laid back about the whole identical twin confusion thing. It's OK to mix us up or forget, especially if we've just met. Our good friend and coworker calls us by the wrong name probably two or three times a week, more if she's tired. But she tries. Which is more than I can say for some people.
Baby A is pretty noticeably blonder than me now. I have half rim glasses, hers are wire with full rims. I'm taller. My backpack is black, hers is green. She wears slip on Vans, I wear shoelace-less sneakers. And there are differences in our faces, bodies, selves.
And let me say this: yes, some people have a much harder time than most telling us apart. We get that. That's OK. Screaming above everyone else's chatter when the question has already been answered for you at least twice that day is not. Luckily for me, that behavior is usually confined to people under 10 years old.