Before my readers who consider themselves to be short get all huffy puffy, let their panties get in a twist, and try to punch me in the face (if they could reach it…ha!), let me explain that just as being short has its own set of problems, so does being tall. So just relax. I love being tall and I would not want to take off any height but it can be problematic being the Jolly Green Giant.
1.) Here is an obvious one, jeans! I cannot find jeans that are long enough for me. Whenever I sit in a chair, my paints ride up my calves giving me the “Abraham Lincoln Syndrome.” That poor guy was a giant of his time. As am I. When I ride my horse bareback (don’t get all sexual with that, people), my pant legs slowly work their way up and around my legs so that by the time I am done, I look like I am ready to go clam digging in the Mariana Trench! This is very annoying. Oh so very, very annoying. If I want a pair of jeans that actually fit me in the legs, the ass, and the waist, I have to pay $80 +. Through my thorough search for jeans, I have noticed that most manufacturers design jeans with a long inseam to fit a girl with a tiny, teeny little ass or a monstrously large one. It is unfathomable that a woman of my size could have a nice normal rear and a normal waist. I think it must be a plot by the high end designers to keep women like me coming back exclusively to them. They pay off brands such as Levi’s to give me the shaft. This has been a problem of mine ever since I started to grow taller than my peers. My mom would buy me a pair of jeans and the next month, they would no longer fit. Arrrggghhh! I must have made some girls very happy when they brought my old brand new jeans home from ARC. At least my height benefits someone. Not even jeans from White House Black Market fit me. Think about that.
2.) Dating. I have been rather fortunate in this arena but the first boy that I fell in love with was 5’6″…I am 5’11″. Pushing on 6″. I did love him dearly (even though now I wish him nothing but acid rain, doom, and castration), but it was never comforting to rest my head on top of his head. Or have to bend down to kiss him. It doesn’t really lend itself to feeling like a girl. I felt like the yeti. He wore my sweatshirts. I stretched out his shirts. I couldn’t put anything in the highest cupboards because he couldn’t reach them. Needless to say, it was a pain in my high off the ground ass. The next man I fell in love with was blissfully tall. It was such a wonderful feeling to be able to rest my head on his chest and wear his sweatshirts. It made me feel like a girl. Travis is a perfect height for me! Just a few inches taller than me and muscled. I could put him a burrito and eat him. But if he were shorter than me, I probably never would have dated him to begin with. Sorry, short guys. Yes, I would have resigned myself to a life sans Travis if he had been taller than me. Maybe…
3.) Higher center of gravity. Admittedly, I am not the most graceful person by any fucking stretch of the imagination. I do, however, posses ninja-like reflexes but it is only because I am perpetually dropping things and tripping all over myself. I drop things with such skill that it would amaze even someone with literal butter-fingers (take a second to imagine that in your head, go on…greasy, huh?). While being a world champion klutz doesn’t strictly depend on my height, my extremely high center of gravity puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to walking and existing. Most definitely when it comes to playing King of the Log. One of my best friends who happens to be 4’11″ whooped my ass at that game! I thought for certain that I had her beat…straddle a log that is raised horizontally off of the ground a few feet and beat the crap out of each other with a pillow until one of you falls off. I was dead in the water. My friend wailed on me with the strength and fury that women exert when they smash ungodly spiders with the closest object. Annnddd….over I went. Had I been shorter, I could have beat her little ass. But alas, my stature cursed me. Plus, a fall to the ground from such great heights can be lethal.
4.) Pictures. Again, I look like a yeti.
Yeti-beth
Pretty much spot on. Even the distractingly large bellybutton.
5.) Finding a saddle that fits my legs! I can’t even begin to describe how annoying this is. Even the $3,000 Rodrigo Pessoa saddle that I worked my face off to buy isn’t a perfect fit for my legs…and it has an extra long flap. Sheeesh. I would probably require a custom made saddle which would cost more than I can even fathom.
I am done bitching about being tall. But remember, one woman’s envy is another woman’s pain the ass! But seriously, I love being tall. I just hate jeans…a lot. Not even my PJ’s are long enough. Abraham Lincoln syndrome, Abraham Lincoln.
WHAT THE FUCK?! I just looked up a picture of Abe so I could insert it here and show you all what I mean and guess what? His fucking pants fit him.
What the deuce?!
Well I suppose I should rename it “Elizabeth Heckmann Syndrome.” Damn.
