Feeling Short
Wed., July 2, 09:36 AM
Short-tempered? No. Short of breath? No. Not even short-changed. Just short.
My mother was always asking me why I was so short, as if nagging would make me taller. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t that short in those days. A teacher lined the girls up by height, and I was ninth out of eighteen. It wasn’t my fault that the classmates she knew were all the taller ones.
Now that mother isn’t around to hear the explanation, I could actually give her one. I grew to five feet and half an inch and never got any taller, despite looking taller. Any new height was evidently absorbed in the curvature of my lower back. (Oh, great. Instead of looking like a short person, I looked like a person with bad posture!) If you spread your arms to the sides and measure from fingertip to fingertip, it should equal your height. By those criteria, I’ve managed to hide at least three inches.
The result was a girl with long legs, long arms, and no height above the waist. I sit on a pillow when I drive. And my best friend once commented, “Would you please take your bust off the table?”
Well, it didn’t make any sense to complain about what couldn’t be changed, so I learned to live with being short and even to enjoy it. Husband always liked the fact that I had to look up to him. My kids call me little and cute, and I’ve said I can tolerate little if it includes cute. One of our local columnists ranted about being short, and I wrote to the paper pointing out that she’s taller than I. And I keep a stepstool wherever I work.
So how come I’m feeling short? What I’m feeling is shorter. The doctors measure you a lot when you have osteoporosis, and I’ve lost an inch or more. Somehow, the shortening is turning up in the worst places. That nice long neck I used to have? Nope; my long earrings now hit my shoulders. Cut-off trousers? They’re ankle-length on me.
Over the years I had grown to like two-piece outfits, where I could shorten a skirt at the waist and wear a loose blouse over it, disguising not only the adjustment but also the slanted waistline. And if the skirt and blouse (or jacket) match, I’m not optically cut in half. When I shop for new clothes, I notice that the skirts will not take a hem; it’s a good thing I’ve developed this method.
So last week – summer at last – I pulled out one of my old outfits and put on the skirt. I stepped on the hem. I rolled it up at the waist. It was still too long. I pulled it up over my bust, and it just peeked out at the neckline – actually looked pretty good. But I’m short.
If you think you’re hearing voices, just look down. That’ll be me, talking all the more because you can’t see me.
