6/30/14

The Plight of a Midget T-Rex

"Hey, can you grab this for me?" "Um…can you reach this?" "Wait, you need what from on top of where?" "Help! I'm stuck up here!"

These are phrases that have inundated my vocabulary. Not because I like the way they sound rolling off my tongue, but rather, out of necessity. Why? Because I'm vertically challenged. Actually, no, I'm just plain short. I might as well say it like it is. I'm proud to say I'm a tall 5' 3" if I stick my chin slightly in the air and make sure my heels barely touch the ground. Unfortunately, my height is only amplified by the fact that I also have short arms. Double whammy.

Now, my cousin claims the short arms scenario is due to our Norwegian ancestors who (he says) rowed in longboats and could only move their arms a certain length to avoid hiding the rower sitting directly in front of them. As generations evolved, the length of their arms remained short. Granted, this theory is humorous, but I doubt it holds much merit.

No matter the cause of my dilemma though, I am reminded daily that my legs and arms are shorter than average. I'm reminded at work when I have to ask my office buddy for help reaching something (it's sickening the way she doesn't even have to stretch, and she's not even unusually tall). I'm reminded after I take my car in for an oil change and I have to move the seat forward again before driving away. I'm reminded in my martial arts classes when doing just about any technique, but especially sparring. I'm reminded at home by the frequency of needing my step stool.

At first, I resented it. Not because of the teasing though. (Actually, I don't mind the teasing a bit because, first off, my shortness really is funny, and second, I feel loved.) No, I resented my shortness simply because I didn't like being short. I didn't like needing to ask others for help. Jumping up and down trying to reach something. Swinging my legs while sitting in someone else's chair. Trying to keep up with other people's walking strides. Needing the "junior" sword in my martial arts class (which became quite funny after a while, and is still a joke).

Then it hit me. If I wasn't short, I'd never have the endearing nicknames, like Short Sword (my favorite). I wouldn't have such a short distance to go when performing pushups or toe-touches. I wouldn't think picturing a T-Rex trying to make a bed to be nearly as funny as I do, since, well, I can relate. (Have you seen the cartoon of two T-Rexes trying to hug? Priceless.) And really, what's not fun about being able to tell your office buddy what to do? So what if I can't reach what's on the top shelf? I get to tell her to do it for me. Score!

All in all, I really have a frightening body shape. I'm surprised I haven't broken any of my mirrors yet. But I have found some advantages to my short height and short arms, mostly which is humor. And maybe that's the whole point. Without a bit of humor, life would be dreadfully dull. If it takes short jokes or T-Rex quips to lighten the mood, I'm glad I can provide the right ingredients.


"T-Rex trying to hit the snooze button..."

 

No comments:

Post a Comment