My older sister and I were often mistaken for twins growing up. Besides our similar — read: almost identical (no pun intended) — haircuts, we looked nothing alike. Anne — pronounced Annie — looks like a Cooper (my mom’s family), and I look like a Kirsch. Appearances aside, she gets me. She’s always there for me when I need her, and she’ll be the first to tell me when I’m right or wrong.

And, just when I needed a good laugh — as if we’re telepathically linked — I noticed a series of text messages from my sister, with pictures of pictures from our childhood.

I'm on the left, oblivious to the rest of the group . . .

Again . . . what am I so distracted by?

And now, I just look like I'm annoyed . . .


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