|photo by Ariel da Silva Parreira|
Having my head touched
Biggest pet peeve ever. I am not an armrest or a puppy. My head is off limits, thank you very much.
Shopping for pants
Pants are always too long, and hemming ruins the cut of the pants, so I decided to start shopping in the women's petite section. What an eye opener! Apparently if you're a petite woman you're also wide around the middle or you wear your pants up to your bra line. If you're short and skinny and trying to be fashionable you must be a tween. But I ain't that skinny, nor do I want to dress like a middle schooler anyway.
Have you ever tried folding king size sheets with a 4-foot wing span? They don't come out pretty. And I thought the queen sheets were tricky...
Relying on step stools
In every room there is a step stool or chair so I can reach the stuff that is at most people's eye level. The worst is when I still can't reach it and I have to climb on a counter or other precarious place and then climb back down with whatever I have in hand. Then there are the times I'm too lazy to even drag the chair over and I jump up and down like a buffoon trying to grab something or put it back--only to have it fall on my head instead.
Whenever that moment comes in a chick flick when the two love interests begin to slow dance and look into each other's eyes and kiss and the woman rests her head on the man's shoulder, I think every woman fantasizes of that happening in her relationship. Well, for me it stays a fantasy because my head doesn't go past my husband's chest. And I can't gaze into his eyes or kiss him long without getting neck cramps.
Being treated like a child
Sometimes I wish I already had wrinkles and graying hair so people can tell I'm an adult! Okay, so not really. But when I was pregnant with my first child--at the age of 23, after getting married and finishing college--I was always scared of being mistaken for a teen mom because at the time I was working at Party City with a bunch of high school grads, my fingers were too swollen for my wedding ring, and I was dressed in khaki pants and a ponytail everyday. I'd find any opportunity to drop the words "my husband." And in general, I get teased a lot, like the baby sister in the family. I thought baby sisters were supposed to be spoiled!
Moral of the story? Height does not equal age, maturity, intelligence, ability, or beauty. It's just a number. (But one that can sometimes be a nuisance, lol.)
Are you short, average, or tall, and how do you feel about it?