When the twins were born there were bargains. Prenatal visits in which the nurse looked for paired heartbeats had a single price, as did the actual delivery. The girls slept in one bed, after they graduated from mine, and shared wardrobes and lunchboxes. 

 

When it was time to insure them as drivers, there were no such deals, however. One day at dinner we danced on the edge of naughtiness by imagining what would happen if we just paid for one, and when they were ever stopped by police could whip out the shared picture ID. But anyone who knows us understands that we could never actually do such a thing.  

 

Now our girls stand on the brink of university life, and we could find no offers of two for the price of one. Especially since they are landing in different countries. To fund these forays into higher education I have been selling quilts, mentally exchanging each Irish Chain into a week of room and board. It turns out there will be no more shared sandwiches. 

 

 

As a reward to myself for recent successes I have loosened my thriftiness belt around ordering fabric online. A bit too much, I daresay, as yesterday two packages of gorgeous colors arrived before I even had a chance to play with the ones I bought last week. 

 

The trouble is, if you can call it that, the places I buy from know me.

 

Well.

 

They have discovered my soft spot for batik, and swirling blues. I think they even take notes. This leads to them plunking friendly suggestions in my lap, making it easy breezy to click them into my virtual cart. They even have my address on file. 

 

When I think back to those appointments with my midwife, I am dumbstruck by the miracle of it all. Someone who knows me better than Missouri Star Quilt Company, better that I know myself, gifted me with the best special of two for the price of one I could dream of.