Have they been fighting again?
"Have you been fighting again?"
"Well, define fighting, Dad. Is it the down and out, fists and hair pulling? Or is it the name calling and spitting at each other? Which do you think is fighting?" Julie looked at her Dad. She was sitting on her twin bed, across from her sister.
Marie sat on the other twin bed, arms crossed and looking mad as anyone could be. "I think it is when you are kicking your sister and punching her in the arm for no good reason," she said.
"Oh, hello, no good reason? NO GOOD REASON? And taking my shirt and wearing it and telling everyone it belongs to you is OK?" Julie was now standing on her bed.
"Well, well, you think it is OK to tell everyone about me falling down the stairs the other day, and then you were all laughing about it." Marie had tears rolling down her cheeks.
Dad stepped in between the two girls and put his hands up. "Enough!" He sat down on Marie's bed. "Come here, Julie." Julie came over, head bowed. "Sit down. Now, I know you two love each other. You are twins, and you can never change that. And you are also seventeen. Soon you will both be out of this house. So you need find a way to get along."
Both girls stared at each other, identical eyes looking into identical faces. It was like mirror images.
Dad hugged his girls, then stood up and went to the door. "No more fighting. That's an order from me, hear?" He went out into the hall and down to the kitchen.
"Have they been fighting again?" was Mom's question.
"Define fighting, honey."