I use to dream that I'm a tall, slender person--in another life--probably in another lifetime. The reality is I'm short. My Grandma was a short lady. She would tell people she was 5 feet tall--actually, she missed the height by 2-inches. My Mom is also a short lady, but she's a bit taller at half an inch under 5-feet. I like being the tallest at 5-feet plus half an inch. It seems, each generation gets a little more height gene.
Short people never think they're short. We stand tall with our perfect postures. We have good, upper-body muscle tone because we're always reaching upwards and stretching for whatever it is, that's just out-of-reach, on the top shelf. I want to believe that I don't mind being short, until I stand beside someone taller--much taller.
I think I was traumatized by the "slow-dances" in high school. It's difficult to feel romantic if your height is somewhere below the armpits and above the belt-line of your partner. I did much better when we danced apart. That's probably why today, line-dancing is my favourite --no partners and no worries about height.
There are lots of advantages to being short. I'm still trying to think of some. My niece tells me she meets a lot of cute guys and also, very helpful guys, who don't mind reaching for stuff in those hard-to-reach places. It's true. The cute, helpful seniors are quite tickled to get stuff in those hard-to-reach places for me too.
The other day, there wasn't anyone around to ask for assistance, so I checked to make sure no one was looking, grabbed the door for support, stepped on the empty bottom shelf of the freezer and reached in the back of the top shelf for a bag of McCain's frozen potato cakes. What the heck--while I was nicely balanced, I grabbed a second bag. And that's when the manager came along, grabbed me by the waist and scolded me in an exasperated tone, "Look, Kid--just find someone to help you. Didn't I warn you before not to climb the shelves? What if you fell and got hurt or. . ." And, his shocked voice trailed away as he realized he was lecturing a mature woman. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered--at least, he set me down gently.
I hate taking my car in for its semi-annual maintenance because I know when I get my car back, I would be spending 5-minutes adjusting the seat height, the seat back and bringing the seat forward. Whenever I needed a "loaner" car from the bodyshop, I would get a nice small compact which was easy to drive--for little old ladies! To this day, my favourite loaner was a regular-size pickup truck. It was red and I sat up high. Commuting along a busy highway, I could see above and beyond other slow-moving cars. I could see obstacles ahead--except when there was something higher, like a bus or a real big truck ahead of me.
I think, in another life, I was probably a "pickup truck" kind of person and probably a much taller person, too!