Being Short—and Shrinking

Believe it or not, and most everyone who knows me won’t, I was the second tallest girl in my class in first grade.  What happened!

I reached the gigantic height of five feet two during the age of my most profusive bloom. Now that the bloom is definitely off the rose, I’m five—uh, five feet nothing.  I could really use those two inches back.

The world is built for taller people.  And I didn’t appreciate that news story that people who lose height as they age are more likely to have heart disease.  My heart is fine, thank you very much, and I intend to keep it that way.  (Besides, who can believe all these studies.  If we did, we’d be immobile for the rest of our lives, as everything we do causes one fatal outcome or another.)

Problems:  Traveling in a crowd for short people?  At best we can do is dart in between moving legs to reach our destination.  I suppose being short for a ballet dancer is a plus.  But what if you’re short and have stubby legs, a longer torso, and baby fat, well, okay, post-menopausal fat.  Where’s the advantage in that?

I still remember my father, over six feet, making the jaunt to visit my house one week.  He did me the “favor” of rehanging all my mirrors so I could see myself better.  Well, he could see himself better.  I couldn’t see a damn thing.  So after he left, my husband and I had to move everything back where it had been and try to patch the new holes in the walls.

Those of us who are chained to the computer for a good portion of the day will note computer chairs aren’t made for short people. Oh, they say they are, and I bought an expensive one, thinking my aching back problems would be solved.  I sit on it now, with a cushion on the seat and an ergonomic memory foam pillow for my back.  It’s—bearable.

I won’t mention not being able to see over people’s heads at the theater or the opera or anyplace really because who’s gone to any of those venues over the last year.  The alleged sight lines in auditoriums are a joke.  If I could bring a booster chair to those events I might have a chance.

The library with those shelves and shelves of books, starting at six feet up.  Well, let’s just say that I shall never be able to read authors whose names begin with A through D, unless I put in a reserve in for them, because I can’t see the titles of the books.

But the worst place of all for a short person is the grocery store.  Most of you can just breeze through and gather ye rosebuds, or whatever is on your shopping list.  I need to get help.  Have you ever tried to get help in a grocery store?  I have two danger zones.  The deli.  If they aren’t calling numbers, I’m out of luck because no one sees me.  Many a time I’m left steaming because someone just walks up and gets served while I wait because I am NOT noticed.

And then there’re the aisles themselves.  I will admit to drinking soda.  Not a copious amount but I like my two-liter bottles.  So why are they always on the top shelves?  Why do I have to search the aisles for someone, anyone to come get them down, unless I can find a kind stranger who is willing to do the deed.  Some stores are better for this than others.  In my town I wouldn’t dare ask.

My house?  I will admit to a kitchen renovation.  Now I have tons of cupboard space, mostly empty because I can reach the bottom shelf only.  Still, I have tons of drawers beneath the counter space, so I consider myself satisfied.

Sigh.  I think I’ve let the angst of the morning escape, so I shall get up and stretch, stretch as high as I can.  And then, when necessary use a step stool.