The Long and Short of it.

As I strode into my secondary school on my first day, I felt 10ft tall, determined to be taken seriously, to be the most interesting person there. Chin held high (well, as high as I could) I wandered the corridors until I was greeted by a gang of sixth formers who were quite easily the biggest, tallest and scariest people I had ever seen. To make matters worse, what I can only describe as the ‘incredible hulk’, spotted me, hugged me and proclaimed that I was “the tiniest person I’ve ever seen!”
“Are you a dwarf?” The hulk asked.
My 10ft persona had already shrunk back into my miniature 4ft-nothing frame, obviously not helped by this comment, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time and replied with:
“Are you a giant?”
The sixth formers collapsed in fits and I ran for my life to hide behind my locker door for the rest of the year. Let’s just say it took me a while to venture out.
After that, I’d always made up for my height issue by making sure I talked enough so that it was impossible for anyone to ignore me. My family have always said I can talk for England, maybe if we ever did come under alien attack, I’d be able to blag planet earth out of it too. I could possibly have stopped World War Two had Hitler ever had to have a conversation with me; I’d have bored him stone dead. I would talk about anything and everything, pretend I’d done things I hadn’t or that somebody I knew had just so I could keep chatting away.
For as long as I can remember I’ve always been the shortest person anyone has ever known. Hobbit jokes, Dwarf jokes, I’ve heard them all. Even my (6ft) grandfather feels the need to refer to the fact that I appear to not have grown for 10 years every single time he sees me. I can’t remember the last time a new acquaintance didn’t mention the only chip I have on my tiny little shoulder.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty aware I have height issues, at currently 4ft 11 and a half, the half makes all the difference, I like to round it up to 5ft, but to be publicly shown up at every opportunity is getting pretty old now.
My family, as I’ve mentioned before, just can’t help themselves and add to this humiliation every time they see me. I’ve begun to dread Christmas, New Year, Christenings, Birthdays, Anniversaries... you get the picture. It really doesn’t help that my grandparents are both tall, along with my aunts and their husbands and children; my ten year old cousin is shooting up past my shoulder already. The only person I can happily stand next to in family portraits is my godfather, who is only 4ft 8. And even then we still look like overgrown kids.
My flatmate calls me the ‘dwarf impersonator’ because I’m just tall enough not to be legally classed as a little person but still just short enough to look like one. I’m just on the cusp; I had to see a doctor every six months so he could check that I was growing properly. My mother convinced me that all children had to do this; I was mortified to find out the real reason for the visits.
Vertically challenged, that’s the most common of all the remarks people make. Even strangers just have to mention it, like I’ve got something stuck to my face. I was always trying to act older, in a desperate childish bid for people to take me seriously; I’d wear scary baggy trousers with chains, gloat about the fact that I’d stayed up past midnight and use long words I usually didn’t know the meaning of. I took up smoking at 14 on that old premise that it makes you look older but unfortunately it just stunts your growth, so really I’m still shooting myself in the size 4 foot.
There are some good things to my height deficit, the most amusing being that I always win hide and seek. I realise this is the most important skill to have in life but it seems to keep me happy. Also, even at 18, I can still get into movies and on buses as a child. So, my shortness helps in the current recession by saving me some much needed pennies.
Though I’ve always had trouble getting stuff off the top shelf and reaching the peddles in my car, even kissing some of my ex-boyfriends has been problematic and mostly painful (standing on your tiptoes for a prolonged amount of time is no fun!) Nice, rich, handsome blokes are hard to come by anyway, but trying to find one that is all these things on a much shorter level is pretty impossible. Maybe I should give Verne Troyer a ring?
And now I’ve grown up a bit (well, matured would be a better way to put it, I’ve never been good with puns) I’ve realised that shortness can be combated, a bit like the flu or a nasty infection somewhere very personal , though not with drugs or a few days off work. Stilettos are the antidote, thank god for Christian Louboutin, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo, the gods of short women everywhere. Not that I can afford their shoes, not on a student loan anyway, but one day their creations will elevate me above the painful memory of my first day at ‘big’ school and I will be 10ft tall again.

Bonjour

So, once again, i'm back on blogspot.

I do also have a tumblr where i dump any and all inspiration. However, this will be my serious blog, with all my writing on it, so that maybe after spending thousands on university, i might actually get a gig penning reviews of indie albums, dubstep club nights and sigh, shoes.
I have a dream, and i will get there one day. Fingers crossed.

Curiousity Killed The Emily on Tumblr.