Himalayan, Her A-Layin'

A few years ago, my identical twin sister and I lived with our respective blokes a couple of suburbs away from each other. For the purpose of this story, imagine that identical twins share the same DNA and look sort of similar. It's better that way.

Within walking distance of both houses was an excellent Himalayan restaurant – outstanding food, questionable décor, and friendly, laid-back staff. I still question whether or not you can actually find prawns in the Himalayas, but their appearance on the menu was a welcome one, along with lamb, goat, chicken, and hands-down winner of the Best Goddamn Dumpling In The Cosmos award – the Mo-Mo. If you've never had a Mo-Mo before, best to just cut out your tongue and whack it in the garbage disposal now, as you've obviously been wasting it. Chickens around the world willingly offer their breasts for the sake of these delectable morsels – sort of like Tara Reid, but a lot classier and considerably more symmetrical.

Anyway, every couple of weeks, my then-boyfriend and I would either sit in for a Himalayan meal or drop in to pick up some take-away. My sister Shelley and her partner would frequent the restaurant about as often. After around two years, we realised we'd never all been there together, so we booked a table, picked up some wine and settled in to peruse the menu.

A few minutes into our visit, we noticed that the waiters and the chef were looking over at our table, laughing and whispering. Much as I adore being the subject of ill-disguised derision, I must have made a noticeable face, as one of the waiters hurried over to explain himself.

"Sorry," he said, addressing Shelley and me, "but we never realised you were twins before. For the last two years, we all thought there was just one of you, and you were seeing two different guys, and you had the balls to keep bringing both guys to the same restaurant. We laughed about it every time you came in. We thought you were an absolute legend. Frankly, we're a little disappointed".

I almost wish they'd never discovered the truth. For a while there, I was a brazen harlot with a taste for chickpeas, yoghurt, and semi-clandestine affairs. Now I'm just a… oh. Oh, I see.