I’m a tall girl. I measure up at about 5’11” (or about 180cm for you crazy foreigners).
My feelings about height have oscillated over the years – my height was great for sports but terrible for attracting boys, particularly in junior high/high school when I towered over the vast majority of them.
(I reached my current height by the age of 12. Yeah, you think about that for a minute. I still have stretch marks from the insane growth spurts of my youth. Sexy, I know.)
But then college came around and part of me was pissed I wasn’t taller so I could’ve had a better shot at playing D1 volleyball. And part of me still wished I was shorter because I discovered a terrifying trend: The taller the guy, the shorter he likes his women. You see it all the time – the 6’6” guy with the 4’11” girl.
Not cool, tall guys. Not cool.
These days I’m pretty happy with my height. I’ve never heard anyone complain about a woman having long legs, and I’ve discovered that any man worth having isn’t intimidated by a tall woman in heels.
Of course, I still cringe when I get the occasional comment, “You’re so tall.” What do you say to that? I used to say, “You’re so short,” but that never went over very well. Apparently you munchkins have just as much of a complex about your height as those of us with desirable body proportions.
But the one that really annoys me is, “How’s the weather up there?”
If you’re a tall woman and someone asks you this inane question, here’s what you do: Tell your dwarfish inquisitor that it’s raining, then spit on their face.
In fact, don’t bother with the explanation. Just spit on them.
Serves the midget right.