The Triplet

This happened in my house today:

Me: Do I have a secret triplet I don’t know about?

Mum: When I first saw the scan I thought you might be triplets.

Me: What would you have named the triplet? It would have to be a four-letter one syllable word.

Mum: Oh dear.

Me: Not a swear word! Not like Jack, Anne and Fuck.

Cue my mother and I laughing hysterically on the landing for about five minutes, while she's putting her laundry into a basket and I'm struggling to hold onto my laptop, a pile of clean clothes and a bank statement.

Poor Fuck, he gets so forgotten amongst his siblings. I like to think that nobody pays attention to him because I'm the girl and Jack's the disabled boy and he's just 'the other one.' You know that short guy you saw wandering around school with dark hair and a very forgettable face? Yeah, that was him. He lives in our garden shed because he's painfully shy of strangers, and only joins us for meals once a year, on our birthday.

It's true, I swear. There were two whole minutes unaccounted for between Jack and I being born; plenty of time for another one.