Imperfection

When the forecast said it was going to be 80, Flora and Lea took the drive out to Rooster Rock and hit the nude beach.

“Is that a tattoo on your butt?” Lea asks Flora as they get settled on their over-sized towels. “I thought you were against them. You’re always going off about how a flower on a teen will look wilted when they get in their thirties.”

“I have a twin sister, Fleur. Whenever she got caught doing something bad, she’d say she was me.”

“That’s kind of rude.”

“Not really. We both did it. Our mom couldn’t tell us apart and we’d game her so much she never knew which of us to punish. She finally got fed up with our antics and convinced a friend of hers to tattoo and x on my ass. We were only six, too young to have it done legally.”

“She really couldn’t tell you apart?”

“We were the most identical twins the staff at the hospital had ever seen, and we remained so as we grew up.” She rubs tanning lotion on the little x on her butt. “And then we weren’t. I had this nasty little x that marked me as imperfect.”

“Let me get that,” Lea says, takes the bottle and squeezes lotion on Flora’s back.

“But when my sister and I looked old enough to pass for eighteen, Fleur got an identical x on her butt and I had mine re-inked. Not that it mattered to our mom at that point, but it did to us. We were identical again, both marked imperfect.”