Shortcomings

I am short. Not petite, not height challenged, just short. I never experienced a growth spurt, settling instead for eking out a mere inch over the summer while other kids I knew grew five. I have always been little. My nicknames, past and present represent this: Sprite, Little McDougall, Little Girl, McDougall Girl or any other variation of the former.

This has bothered me all my life particularly since this is not an inherent trait. Both of my sisters stand at a regal 5’7 whereas I am a measly 5’3. With shoes on.

I do believe that my parents bear some responsibility for my predicament. My conspiracy theory is that they stunted my grown as a child by allowing me to sleep in the “way back” of our Pontiac T1000 hatchback during our annual 18 hour trek to Hilton Head. In addition, any time we stayed at a hotel “T” and Gail slept in one double bed while Eboogie and Pooh got the other. Where did little McDougall sleep? That would be between two upholstered chairs pushed together to make a bed (or the loveseat at Ma B’s lake house) My theory is that this systematic abuse of my muscles due to my inability to stretch out over the years is the reason for my slight stature.

Shortness is a serious disease; a physical and emotional ailment and should be treated as such. It is the root of my crowd anxiety and the reason for my preoccupation with shoes, among other things. There is also a very negative connotation associated with being short. In an effort to further prove my point, please look at the list of synonyms below:

Short - Tall
Little - Big
Petite - Giant
Dumpy - Lofty
Tiny - Elevated
Squat - Soaring
Diminutive - Large
Undersized - Prominent
Stunted - Grand

Hmmm…would I rather be dumpy or prominent? Tough call.

As with any shortcoming, one often finds themselves trying to overcompensate. Wearing leg lengthening pants and skirts, the most ridiculously tall shoes I can manage without breaking my leg, dating really tall guys, loading the top shelves in the kitchen with the things I rarely use (climbing on top of the counter gets old after awhile) This is me lashing out and reacting against being short.

You may be wondering what brought on this little tirade. After all, I have never been tall; shouldn’t I have made peace with this by now? Things have recently come to a head because my new routine of walking in heels from the parking lot to my building has caused serious strain on my already crappy knees. I have been forced to wear…no, I can’t even say it…FLATS (insert appropriate taken aback reaction here) more often than I’d like in an effort to relieve the pain. The response has been comments like: “I never realized you were so little!”

I am trying, as with any flaw to learn to accept the things I cannot change with grace and dignity. I’ll probably be forced to pass this genetic mutation on to my children so I apologize in advance for the years of torment. I will make vigorous attempts to move them up in the alphabet, but that is another issue completely…