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Ballister arrived home to two identical Ambrosiuses (Ambrosi? Ambrosae?) sitting on the couch.
“I am not doing this today,” he warned, but with great mirth in his voice.
Ambrosius 1 stood up from the couch. “Come on, Bal. Have a little fun.”
Ambrosius 2 soon joined him. “You don’t want to guess which one is which?”
Unfortunately for the twin troublemakers, no guessing needed to happen at all. Ballister instantly pointed to the copy that had spoken first. “This one is Nimona. I’m sure of it.”
The first Ambrosius raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Ballister confirmed with confidence. “You can’t fool these eyes.”
“You wouldn’t want to give the wrong one an ‘I’m home’ kiss,” Ambrosius 2 pointed out, wagging his finger.
Ambrosius 1 also wagged his finger. “…Would you?” he finished flawlessly.
Ballister sighed before addressing Ambrosius 1. “Mona, please. I’ve had a long day. You’re very, very good at shapeshifting into other people, but I’d like to see my rapscallion who no one can imitate.”
Although the first Ambrosius had been spoken to, it was the second Ambrosius who gave a reply. “Pick a number between one and ten, Bal.”
What that had to do with the conversation, Ballister did not know. But he knew it best to play along. “Seven?”
Poof! Ambrosius 1 — not the Ambrosius who had just given the instruction — morphed into a seven-year-old girl. “You’re good, boss!” She leapt into the air, her way of asking to be picked up.
“I’d be loath to mix you two up,” Ballister admitted, catching her securely in one arm while the other wrapped around the real Ambrosius’ waist. He kissed Nimona’s head and Ambrosius’ lips. “I’m just grateful you can’t clone yourself. … You can’t clone yourself, right, Nimona?”
Nimona wrapped her little arms around his neck. “No but thanks for the idea!”