My Doppelganger and Me

It’s with some dismay that I inform you I may soon have to leave beautiful Eden. I’m not ready to go. I’ve fallen in love with the sunny little town- its shimmering beaches, its local mussels and its casual lack of pretense. If I had it my way, I’d laze on the sand for weeks to come, soaking up the last of the summer sun. But, alas, I fear my presence here may be slowly eroding the reputation of a local 15 year old girl. No, really. 

The story goes like this. A couple of weeks back, I was in the local IGA purchasing my nightly tipple. Deep in careful consideration as to which red would best compliment Tom’s salami pasta, I failed to notice a man sneaking up beside me.

‘ARE YOU IGNORING ME?’ He bellowed, causing me to shriek in fright.
‘Um, no,’ I managed, recovering from the shock to find a man looking at me expectantly, ‘How are you?’
‘Oh!’ He stumbled, his expression turning to embarrassment, ‘I thought you were Madeline!’
He went on to explain to me that my resemblance to this Madeline was so uncanny, he hadn’t been able to discern the difference until he was literally within two feet of me. In the ensuing conversation, I discovered that my doppelganger is very well respected indeed; a member of the local soccer team, a keen surfer, and, wait for it, a high school student!

Returning home to Tom, my initial reaction was one of pure vanity. At 27, I didn’t look a day older than 15! But in my rush to congratulate myself on my youthful glow, I’d neglected to entertain the possible implications of having a veritable twin walking around. ‘I wonder if anyone thought Madeline was buying grog.’ said Tom. That observation turned out to be quite prophetic.

Since that day, I’ve been mistaken for young Madeline several times. More than once, when I’ve enlightened the local as to my true identity, they’ve looked at me incredulously, as if Madeline were playing some sort of cruel joke on them, masquerading as someone else.

But my issue isn’t with the locals who approach me; it’s with the ones who don’t. You see, I haven’t exactly been waltzing around Eden behaving like Saint Katie. I’ve been, ahem, more than a little drunk on several occasions at the pub. I make regular trips to the IGA to top up the grog supply, and I am ashamed to say I’ve displayed some pretty dismal surfing skills. Now, I’m not sure if it’s my own paranoia or if there’s weight to my theory, but I swear I’ve received more than one long sideways glance when engaging in these activities!

Madeline, whoever you are, I fear my less then sterling behaviors have been tarnishing your perfect image! If you, by some twist of fate, are reading this, do not be alarmed if you are inexplicably accused of fornicating, drunk, with a 20-something red head guy named Tom.

So it is with a heavy heart that I conclude that I must leave this place. Before poor Madeline finds herself the bemused recipient of an all-in local intervention.