Midget Problems

You might think the title of this post would mean something like having problems that are really small, or don’t amount to anything. No, it actually refers to the curse I inflicted on another human being, completely by accident. I really didn’t mean to and it wasn’t some Greek tragedy promise I’d worked out with the universe, or anything like that (I mean, come on, if I had the power to change the course of history with a single wish, do you think I’d waste it on a mere mortal when I could have used it to gain majority control of Nestle corporation?!).

I accidentally made my kid a midget.

Don’t get all politically correct douche canoe on me. If my kid was actually a medical midget, would I be using that word? No, if my kid did have a genetically issued diagnosis of dwarfism in some form, I’d throat punch people for calling her names. Midget, however, doesn’t seem to bother me as a word or a diagnosis but that could be because I’m not related to any. Since it’s not a diagnosis and she’s not actually horrifically undersized, midget fits. As in, when this happens:

Or when she’s given a principle role in a stage production and meets her partner at the first choreography rehearsal and the director keeps eyeballing them and asking, “How is she with stilts?” (There’s a whole other reason why she’s awesome on stilts, but that was a different play.)

I don’t love being in a position of having no one else to blame. Besides being a little midgety myself, I failed to marry a man who was tall enough to reach that useless cabinet that idiot contractors put above the refrigerator for some reason. Of course, I also failed to marry a man with a last name that would sound good hyphenated with mine or who had a trust fund, so offspring height really wasn’t high on my list of priorities at the time. Sorry kiddo, for doing this to you, but when they need actors for the Lollipop Guild, you’re in.

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6 thoughts on “Midget Problems

  1. My mother was 4’11” and a tiny size 2 (sisters are fairly short and petit–I was the “big” one at 5’7″) but I gotta say what she didn’t have in stature, she sure made up for in spunk. She was fiesty as hell–nobody overlooked her, ever! My son is 6’3″–it was so funny to see him with her…

  2. Being short isn’t so bad! If you buy your pants in the kids dept you don’t have to hem them and they are way cheaper!

  3. You know someone is going to say this, so it might as well be me.

    I’m 5’10”. At 7, my parents moved me to Mexico, where the average height of fully-mature women at that time was around, what, 5’4″? And men a couple of inches taller at most?

    I had to grow up there, sticking out a half a foot above most of the guys – no wonder I didn’t date much!

    My sisters (3) are 5’10”, too, and the runt of our little litter is my sister K, at only 5’8″. They all wear heels.

    They all still live in Mexico. So we’re used to, quite literally, standing out. So much so that people still claim to not know which of us is which. Oh yeah, we all got glue eyes and blonde hair.

    And, BTW, I had them put an extra tall set of cabinets over everything when we had the kitchen remodeled – it’s amazing storage (with a folding stepstool) for things that would otherwise live in the basement most of the year. Soffits are a waste of space. Literally (they are an empty wood/plywood boxed off space). Even if you don’t use it, think of the next people.

    And finding clothes in Mexico…? The same sisters have popularized the 3/4 sleeve look. Mostly they use it as an excuse for shopping trips to the States.

    And (see, you got me started) for some reason (makes them feel big?), tall men adore little women. Daddy was 6’4″, Mother used to be 5’6″. Have some compassion for tall girls, guys!

    There are no negative-stilts.

    I sympathize with the problems of the short, which are very real – the main one being that men treat short women as non-existent when they do their puffing the chest, I’m bigger than you, macho thing to each other, and ignore what women say at meetings until a taller male comes up with the same idea (research tells us this).

    But life is no picnic for the tall gals, either.

  4. I’m only 5’1″. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when all my kids grew to be taller than me. One didn’t get much farther, though, and the picture of her with her twin brother looks a whole lot like the one you posted. He’s a foot taller than her. However, I did my best to give good genetics and married a man a foot taller than me! So there was partial success – 2 of the 4 kids are over 5’5″. Yay! But the tall ones hide the Halloween candy on top of the refrigerator where the rest of us can’t see it…. So unfair.

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