Have you ever, ever, ever in your short legged life,

met a short legged sailor and his short legged wife.

When I was a kid, I remember singing this song while playing a clapping game with my friends.  I never thought of the words much, other than that they were pretty funny.  Well, now that I actually am a short legged wife, some days are funnier than others.  Like today for instance, my team at school decides to go out for lunch together and my friend Heidi volunteers to drive.  No problem, right?  Well it is if the bottom of the door is up to your hip.  I stopped, looked at it for moment and thought, I can’t go to lunch.  I can’t get in this SUV.  I literally had to lift up my left leg with my hand to place my foot on the floor of the backseat and hoist myself up kinda sideways to get in.  It wasn’t much better getting out.  I dangled a good two feet off the ground so I slid off of the seat like a slide onto the pavement, knowing full well I was going to have to perform this circus act again after lunch.

It’s not that I’m terribly short, after all, 5’4″ isn’t really that short, but I have a relatively long torso and short legs.  It makes for great fun when I’m trying to walk with people who are taller than I am.  It literally takes me two steps for every one of theirs and while they are seemingly sauntering down the hallway, I’m running a marathon.  Add a hot flash in the middle of that and I’m a lovely mess.

Sitting at high top tables is also an adventure.  After hoisting myself up on the stool/chair, then I have to find a place for my feet.  The place for your feet on the stool itself is usually too low and I have to balance my toes on it or just let the legs swing freely, which isn’t bad if the seat sits back enough.  To make things even better, the rail on the bottom of the table is too low as well and I can’t reach it. If I just had those blocks I used to have on the pedals of my tricycle, I’d be in business.  And sitting a a regular table in a restaurant isn’t much better. Sometimes I’m sitting in a booth where the top of the table comes up to your chest.  I can literally shovel food into my mouth from the plate.  I feel like a five year old at the grown-ups table.  Surely there are enough short people in the world that manufacturers can consider us when designing things like this.

And people are growing taller and larger all the time.  I have fifth graders who look down on me and second graders whose feet are larger than mine.  What the heck are we feeding these kids because obviously I didn’t get any!  Well okay,  I’m continue to grow, only now it’s just “out”, instead of “up”.  Pretty soon I’ll be round.

And forget standing with a group of tall people.  I can only see as far as the next tall person.  At sporting events, I’m fortunate to go with a friend much taller than I who can see ahead and I just follow him around.  If I lose him, I’m doomed to wander among the tall trees, lost forever.  Maybe this is why I sometimes feel invisible when I’m standing talking to a group of taller people.  They have to strain themselves to look down and see me.  It’s much easier to look over my head and speak to all of the other tall people.  Which is why sitting and talking to people puts me on a little more equal ground.

And being short, I will forever and always be doomed to be “cute”.  Well, at least when I was younger.  Never, beautiful, or heaven forbid, statuesque.  Just “cute”.  Which to some means ditzy, or perky like some kind of cheerleader or something.  No offense to cheerleaders.  It’s hard to be taken seriously when you’re considered “cute”.  Maybe if I find some cool French word for cute it would sound better?  Except the word is “mignonne” as in “filet mignon”, the smaller end of the tenderloin.  Cute equals small in any language.  Sigh.

Then, when people finally get past the height and the cuteness and you get to a point in your career where maybe you get the chance to speak in front of groups, they put you behind a podium.  Where you can hide apparently, because that’s what it feels like.  Where you have to pull the microphone down as far as it will go so you can reach it while it makes that horrible screeching sound.  So much for being taken seriously.

Are there perks to being short however?  You bet.  I can walk down the sidewalk without having to duck under tree branches.  I don’t have to bend over to drink from water fountains.  I can sit down in my little VW beetle without any difficulty while tall people have to contort to get in.  There are some advantages. But tonight, I’ll hoist myself up into my tall bed, wondering how much longer I can do this before I have to buy a step stool. And next time I’m asked to go to lunch, I think I’ll drive.