I just remembered another quirky ability Ira and I share: wherever there’s text—books, store windows, menus—we often read things wrong, instinctively twisting words into our own versions. The funny part is we always misread the same words, no matter where we see them. We end up laughing uncontrollably at the same joke—the same misread line in a book—even when no one else finds it funny.
Our take on any text tends to converge into a single thought. When we were kids we even wrote poetry together, alternating lines: she’d write one line, I’d write the next. Our dad was always horrified, saying, “How can you do that? You two are something else…” It wasn’t just a string of lines; it became a single poem. Of course we also wrote stories and books. What a talent we had!
