a 4th-grade conversation between me and mom:
me: “nobody likes me. the boys pick on me and call me short.”
mom: “when boys pick on you, it just means they like you.”
me: “well, then, everybody likes me.”
mom: “oh boy …”
growing up, my parents had a way of making sure i never became too self-assured. confidence = good. cocky = bad. one way to ensure i stayed grounded, especially after that little conversation, pops would often sing to me “short people” by randy newman. he, of course, found this to be the most hilarious joke on the planet. (another favorite was this threat, “i’m gonna hang you upside down by your toes and see if you stretch.”) and while i usually humored him with a half smirk/smile, it undoubtedly brought the same reaction every single time, “daaaad.”
now that i’m all growed up–as growed up as i can be–i don’t mind my height. i do my best to make the most of it. occasionally, though, i feel the twinge of ouch. especially when strangers LOVE to play captain obvious, “oh my god. you’re so short.” or when i see deliriously swoon-worthy articles of clothing that just don’t–and will never, ever, ever–look right on me. (i’m not complaining, just stating the facts, people.)
today, shopbop reminded me of my height. and it made me sad. oh, the things i would wear if i were long and lean:
1. little shorts and over-the-knee–or, heck, just knee–boots.
2. short jackets that, now, are never actually short on me and fun cray legging-like pants like this.
3. knee-length anything with ankle booties. (granted, i could still try this, but i think it’s better when you see more bare leg than what i could offer.)
4. long blazers/shirts with skinny jeans/leggings. (and damn those knee-high boots again!)