91Èȱ¬

Transcript

"Every mirror in my flat cuts me off at the nose and if I want to see my teeth as I brush them, I have to stand on tiptoes.

Being short has good points and bad: OK, so sometimes I forget what my mouth looks like, but for a woman that works in an office and has no relationship what-so-ever with the gym, I don't half have impressive calf muscles! I can stand up in a plane without banging my head on the overhead locker, but I always need help putting my bag in the bin. Legroom is never an issue, but reaching the pedals can sometimes be and more often than not, I drive with the sun in my eyes because sun visors are useless. The third car I bought was a saloon with a beefy, grunty, powerful engine and I loved it. I was outraged when people's first reaction wasn't "wow" or "she's a beauty" or "what a beast!" and was, instead, "but that's a big car!".

I'm a half-pint, a munchkin, a pixie, a smudgeley (but never, on pain of death, a midget or a gnome or a poison dwarf, or stumpy - althoooooough, when I think about how terrible I was at thirteen, poison dwarf was a fair comment).

If there was a pill or a potion to make me taller, would I take it? It would be tempting, I admit. I wouldn't miss my shoulder being used as an arm rest and I doubt that I'd miss being picked up or being treated like a doll by my lengthier, younger sister ...

... and I definitely wouldn't hanker after the time when I was 23 and I got chased through Disneyland Paris by a man in an elf costume, waving a height stick and screaming at me in French. How embarrassing!

I would miss the little perks, though, if I'm completely honest. I can get to the front of a mosh pit in a heartbeat (I mean, what big sweaty mosher is going to object to little old me slipping past?) and I can't remember the last time I carried my own shopping basket in company.

I'm short, I never said I was sweet."