I'm Only Petite on the Outside.
All my life, I've been the tiniest person in the room. Especially when I was a kid, when I was even smaller than I am now*. Well except maybe in Sub B**, where this guy Tony was about an inch shorter than me and I decided that this meant we were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I don't recall actually mentioning this to Tony, because I didn't realise at the time that he had any sort of choice in the matter. He didn't seem to mind... or notice, for that matter.
Bygones.
In any case, I am now a petite adult. Petite in clothing stores seems to be shorthand for Really Short Legs. Generally though most people prefer to go with Midget, teeny tiny short person, and Oh Hey You're Cute. Women tend to refer to me as slim, skinny or delicate. Men, on the whole, tend to use the word miniature a great deal, and attempt to rest things on my head. I get a lot of hair ruffling too***. In japan, slightly-less-tiny 15-year-olds would ruffle my hair while squealing excitedly that I was "kawaaaiiiiii". Then I would shoot them with the Bazooka that I had taken to work that day and had cunningly concealed in my elaborate hair style.
The problem is, how people seem to see me is not how I feel. I feel, generally, lumpy and gangling. Technically there needs to be more of you, and with longer limbs, to be gangling, but I feel like I somehow accomplish this. While I strive for ballerina grace, it feels more like elephantine stompiness.
Possibly, this comes from being somewhat of a tomboy, and also incredibly clumsy. If there's something to fall over, I will fall over it. Sometimes also if there isn't something to fall over. If I lean into a cupboard under the sink to get a pot, I'll whack myself on the back of the head. I'm pretty sure I've incurred brain damage doing this the hundred-odd times I have. Drinking tea or water, I'll miss my mouth completely and pour the liquid down my face, or onto my lap, or a nearby computer, or a baby. I come home with mammoth bruises that I don't remember getting, and large swathes of skin I seem to have misplaced.
Once, a friend referred to me as "graceful and elegant" when describing me to someone else. I was, to say the least, confused. But if I can fool at least one person, then maybe that's enough. The rest I can just take out with my Bazooka.
*Proportionately to the other children dumbass, obviously I wasn't born this size or my mother would have made an even bigger deal about the labour.
**which is now called Grade 2. It used to be 2 sub-standards and ten standards, the last of which was Matric and now it's 12 Grades. I get very confused.
*** because there's nothing a grown woman likes better than being condescended to like a four-year-old.
Bygones.
In any case, I am now a petite adult. Petite in clothing stores seems to be shorthand for Really Short Legs. Generally though most people prefer to go with Midget, teeny tiny short person, and Oh Hey You're Cute. Women tend to refer to me as slim, skinny or delicate. Men, on the whole, tend to use the word miniature a great deal, and attempt to rest things on my head. I get a lot of hair ruffling too***. In japan, slightly-less-tiny 15-year-olds would ruffle my hair while squealing excitedly that I was "kawaaaiiiiii". Then I would shoot them with the Bazooka that I had taken to work that day and had cunningly concealed in my elaborate hair style.
The problem is, how people seem to see me is not how I feel. I feel, generally, lumpy and gangling. Technically there needs to be more of you, and with longer limbs, to be gangling, but I feel like I somehow accomplish this. While I strive for ballerina grace, it feels more like elephantine stompiness.
Possibly, this comes from being somewhat of a tomboy, and also incredibly clumsy. If there's something to fall over, I will fall over it. Sometimes also if there isn't something to fall over. If I lean into a cupboard under the sink to get a pot, I'll whack myself on the back of the head. I'm pretty sure I've incurred brain damage doing this the hundred-odd times I have. Drinking tea or water, I'll miss my mouth completely and pour the liquid down my face, or onto my lap, or a nearby computer, or a baby. I come home with mammoth bruises that I don't remember getting, and large swathes of skin I seem to have misplaced.
Once, a friend referred to me as "graceful and elegant" when describing me to someone else. I was, to say the least, confused. But if I can fool at least one person, then maybe that's enough. The rest I can just take out with my Bazooka.
*Proportionately to the other children dumbass, obviously I wasn't born this size or my mother would have made an even bigger deal about the labour.
**which is now called Grade 2. It used to be 2 sub-standards and ten standards, the last of which was Matric and now it's 12 Grades. I get very confused.
*** because there's nothing a grown woman likes better than being condescended to like a four-year-old.
Labels: Clumsy, geekery, getting personal
posted by Betenoir at 9:24 AM
4 Comments:
At least you still remember the head banging episodes. It's when you start forgetting them that you have to worry. Then again, if you do, how would you know?
You are sooooo tankgirl right now! Two dollars and 15 cents.
Not that I'm saying you're cheap... foot in mouth. Man, I really do hope you are a Tankgirl fan now.
kyk: I think I've forgotten at least half of the brain damage I've inflicted.
Jeanpant: It's been swell... but the swelling's gone down.
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