(This post inspired by Sarah Cooper’s post: “When Did I Grow Up?”)
Although some who know me may disagree, this is NOT a post about failing to mature—but rather—why, oh why, was I more blessed with short genes than with tall genes? At my tallest (we DO shrink a bit with age—a gravity-thing I suspect—I’ve lost a half inch somewhere along the way—and I’d like it back!), I reached a towering 5’6”.
It’s Dad’s fault! He comes from a very looong line of short people, reaching an astounding height of 5’4”! Mom, the shortest of her siblings, was 5’4” as well—not too bad for a woman born in 1911. Her siblings ranged from 5’8” to 6’3”, so there was some height there—but that ability to attain normal height was limited to the children of the sibling’s families—not to us.
There are some real disadvantages to being vertically challenged:
- Having to look up to see down.
- Having to look up to people you really don’t look up to.
- Being patted on the top of your head—as someone’s warped idea of humor.
- Hating Randy Newman.
BUT—there are some real advantages to being vertically challenged:
- Not having to duck nearly as often as normal people.
- Being able to swing my legs while sitting on a curb.
- Being able to comfortably drive almost any car—including really neat sports cars!
- Having less housework to do—if you don’t see it—it don’t matter!
- A six foot long bed is just fine.
- Not experiencing “acrophobia” merely from simply standing up.
Being short is not so bad-eh?