In my younger days, I played the field.
Once, I was fought over by identical twins.
It was impossible to tell them apart.
Believe me, I checked everywhere, and in every respect, they looked and sounded and acted the same.
Well, except for one.
One had a knife. One had a gun.
“Come on, Marie!” I said to the girl with the gun pointed at me. “Let’s talk about this!”
“Dammit, I’m Wendy!” she said.
Wendy had taken Marie’s gun, I guess.
Or was it Marie, I thought, as the bullet hit my chest and I fell to the floor.