My mom wasn’t quite five feet tall. The big moment in life that my siblings and I looked forward to as kids was the day when we surpassed our mom’s height. Being the shortest of the three siblings in my clan it took me awhile, but I finally made it somewhere around age 15. I am now 5 ‘ 2 1/2″. And yes, the 1/2″ matters. When you are barely skipping above 5’2″ every little bit matters.
I wear a lot of high heels. I wear so many high heels that it doesn’t always register with folks how short I am. With 3 1/2″ heels I almost look like I am a “normal” height. Today I wore my hot pink Levi sneakers about town and I have to say – I felt a tad diminutive. Not that I tower over anyone with heels on – most days I just hope that I don’t have to strain my neck looking up at everyone who talks to me. Yet I must admit, when I don’t have high heels on I feel my shortness.
It’s not that I really mind being short so much – at least I have an easy fix – high heels. I guess I would rather be short than tall. I am not faced with the issues my tall friends have with things like dating or clothes. The issue of me being taller than a date has pretty much been a non-issue. I never have to wear flats so I am not taller than my date. I also do not have to be concerned about whether pants or dresses are too short. I do have to buy either petite or junior clothes, but as I understand it from friends being a petite is actually an easier cross to bear than trying to find clothing for tall women.
So, being short is okay with me most days – even when folks tease me about it (apparently they never saw that movie Single White Female and have no appreciation for the damage a stiletto can do). Nevertheless, I saw a shirt the other day with a quip that I am going to add to my arsenal for the next time I hear, “Wow…you are short!” Here it is…it’s perfect – “I’m not short…I’m fun size.” I’ll just add a wink at the end of that statement and leave them to ponder that. Hopefully they’ll never look at a short person the same again. 
Day six hundred and sixty of the new forty – obla di obla da
Ms. C
I am in my early fifties but my beard and hair are rapidly going white. I want to guy a teeshirt that says “Live Fast-Die Young” and when the youngsters look at it with a question in their eye answer. “I started Late”.
Perfect! I love this come-back and plan to use it the next time I hear comments toward me about being short . . . I’m 5’3″.