Recently, my first-born prize egg inquired of my second-born prize egg, “You realize we’ve been replaced, don’t you?”

My second-born prize egg looked a little worried. “What do you mean by that?” she asked cautiously.

With just a hint of wickedness in her voice, the first-born snickered, “By Little Man and Dolly.”

Little Man and Dolly are my two precious Pomeranians. I’ll admit they’re adorable. But replace the prize eggs? Never.

Allow me to explain a little something about the first-born. A drama queen from birth, she’d just as soon blow things out of proportion as breathe. We automatically know that anything she says has been embellished to at least the 9th power.

Consequently, while I’d never suggest that she likes to make trouble, she does enjoy a little wind-tunnel disturbance from time to time. Mr. Man (my hubby) says she inherited all these wonderful personality traits from moi.

My second-born is without a doubt just the opposite of her older sister. Disliking controversy in any form, she prefers that all things remain consistent and stable, with no feather ruffling along the way.

And here’s another thing about the prize eggs. The first-born came to earth wearing a pair of the most powerful antennae known to man on top of her pretty head. She probably picks up signals from Mars. No, make that Pluto.

If we’re thinking about it, she knows it. Sometimes she knows it even if we’re not thinking about it, which can lead to one of those disturbances I told you she enjoys.

The second-born sports only a tiny pair of antennae, and for the most part is oblivious to what we’re thinking. Or so it seems. Sometimes we’ll find out much later that she’s been thinking about what we’re thinking, but we didn’t know it because she kept her thoughts secret. Which can also lead to one of those disturbances.

As you can see, the skeptical first-born never dares to be caught without her magnifying glasses for fear she might miss something important, while the second-born has a nice big pair of rose-colored shades perched firmly on the tip of her nose.

Here’s a case in point. One day many years ago, I sat at my desk in Albany working. About five miles away, the Lowe’s chemical warehouse exploded into a towering inferno, and authorities evacuated nearby residents.

Numero uno phoned me frantically several times throughout the day, begging me to leave work immediately. “But I’m in no danger – the fire is several miles from here,” I stoically replied.