They might be giants
You might not be able to tell from my writing, but I’m super short.
While my innumerable and embarrassing shortcomings become increasingly apparent to total strangers the more I blog, it’s probably not as easy to get a handle on my height just by reading. So let me give you a helpful visual that I think will aid in your understanding. You know the beautiful beanstalk that is Uma Thurman? Good. I look *absolutely* nothing like her. Your disappointment is palpable.
The long and short of my height is that there’s no long. As per usual when it comes to my failings, I blame my Hobbit of a mother. Even on tippy toes, I can’t touch the top shelf at the grocery store. For all I know, that’s where the vitamins are kept that make your legs grow, and it’s all just a Catch-22 to keep me down. And I’ve never cleaned the ceiling fan in my bedroom, which is thickly caked with an ashen combination of cat fur and dust, because I can’t
be bothered reach it. And there are certain light bulbs in my apartment that I consider to be irreplaceable. “Irreplaceable” in the sense that they will never be replaced by me. You know the saying “it’s always darkest before dawn”? That’s pretty much my motto. Unless my next girlfriend’s name isn’t Dawn. Then I hope Aurora, Sunrise and Morn are still single.
I’m never more aware of how vertically challenged I am than when I spend time with my dear friend Carol, whom I met in college. Clocking in at an even 6 feet tall, she has a solid 10 inches on me. We may both lean wildly left in our politics, judge people for sport and firmly believe avocado should be eaten at every meal, but in our 10 years of friendship, we’ve never actually seen eye-to-eye, just eye-to-boob. Lucky for me, she’s got really nice knockers.
Despite the fact that Carol is catless on account of allergies, she is long and lean and everything I wish I could be. I always feel as though I’m living in her shadow. In part because she’s quickly climbing up the corporate ladder. And because she resides in a trendy neighborhood in sunny San Diego. And because she’s married to her high school sweetheart, Chad. And also because I am literally living in Carol’s shadow.
While I was spending a week on the West Coast with Carol and Chad earlier this summer, two pornographic pictures mysteriously appeared on the iMac in the room of their apartment Carol refers to as the Man Cave — the one space where Chad is permitted to exercise creative decorative control (think: gargoyles, Tim Burton tchotchkes and industrial music posters). This, coincidentally, was where I was bedding down and granted unlimited access to the internet. Upon noticing the two jpegs of a fair-skinned naked lady with jugs so massive and perky they couldn’t possibly occur in nature standing in a snowscape sporting only a strategically placed skimpy scarf and hat, Carol was left to ponder who downloaded the smutty snapshots: her partner of 15 years or the lesbian out-of-towner. It was truly anyone’s guess.
It didn’t take long before Chad confessed as an accomplice to the crime. “My stepdad keeps sending me this stuff,” he said with a shrug before pulling out his iPhone and scrolling through more evidence stacked against him — a handful of X-rated images courtesy of his pervy parent. Suddenly, we all wished the sex-starved gay guest had been the one with an insatiable thirst for sleaze.
Although it’s true that I could be wrongly accused of a raging appetite for porn back home 3,000 miles away, and I did email the salacious photos to myself for research purposes, it’s just not the same without Carol and Chad. But Carol won’t consider leaving Southern California, and I feel most at home in New England, and neither one of us cares to ever step foot in any of the 40-something flyover states between us. So we have to just settle for seeing each other every few years. Chad, however, is a wild card. Like me, he adores Carol, loves to snuggle small creatures, does his best sleeping during the daytime and is enamored of the city of Boston. That’s why Carol recently decreed I get custody of him when she dies. Something to look forward to.
I feel short-changed that Carol, Chad and I live so far apart. But you could probably tell that from my writing.