I was just looking out the front window, spying on the neighbors with my roommate’s binoculars, when I saw a man and a woman walking up to the flea market across the street. The man pushed a stroller with a baby girl inside, and they walked with a young boy on inline skates.
What caught my eye was the man–my height, build, and coloring, with black plastic-rimmed glasses and a shaved head. He looked so much like me–barring that he’s fully clean-shaven, both pate and chin–that I’m sure even my mom would be fooled.
He wore a blue-denim jacket and carried a pink diaper bag with a teddy bear on it. Not only would I never wear blue denim above the waistline, I’d pick a more stylin’ diaper bag to sling over my shoulder. It’s like some weird, domesticated, parallel-universe version of me. I spied on his wife a while to make sure the parallel-me has good taste and, unfortunately, he kinda doesn’t.
I’m much better at pickin’ the cuties than he is.


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