“Are they twins?”

Here’s a passive-aggressive, not-that-embellished version of a conversation I have with a stranger on *at least* a weekly basis:

“Yes. They’re twins. The small children I’m carting around who look exactly alike were born three minutes apart, nearly six weeks early. Yes, they had to stay in the hospital. Yes, that is more information than I’m entitled to give you, but am socially obligated. Yes, they’re mine.

“No, we didn’t do IVF. No, I’m really really not obligated to answer that question, but I did so that maybe you’d wrap this up so we can buy our burritos or box of gogurts or diarrhea medicine or whatever.

“Yep. I can tell them apart. Yes, it’s difficult sometimes. No, I don’t know which one’s the evil one–they both worship Satan (I only say this if it’s an old man who I’m pretty sure is racist.)

“No, they don’t have any brothers or sisters (THAT I KNOW OF! [I’ve never done that one, but maybe I’ll try tomorrow…])

“Yep. It’s hard. No we’re not going to have more (WHY IS IT OKAY TO ASK THIS????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????)