Another letter from Katie Botkin about her adventures in Ireland.
Soon enough, I feel the need to get up from the table and find the ladies’ room. As I go in, I catch a glimpse of a blonde girl in the mirror as she stands at the sink washing her hands. She looks like someone I know. For the next minute, in the stall, I’m trying to remember who. Maybe she looks like someone famous. And then I remember: she looks almost exactly like a girl I’ve seen in yoga class a few times in my town of 10,000 people. I bolt out of the stall to get a better look at her, trying not to seem creepy. And sure enough, it looks like her identical twin.
“Are you from Sandpoint?” I blurt out.
“How’d you know that?” she asks, obviously startled.
“I’m in your yoga class,” I say, still trying not to be creepy. “Hot yoga. The one Noelle teaches.”
She doesn’t know who I am, but it doesn’t matter. “I’m Katie,” she introduces herself.
“I’m Katie, too,” I say, and I laugh. What are the odds?
So we go downstairs, and of course we take a picture together and tell our mutual friends about it, and then they meet each other. And we go back to drinking our Irish stout.