Endless Shortcomings.

22 Jun

It’s only very late at night that my brain decides to torture me with all sorts of rubbish. Missed opportunities, total failures, and times when you were a total dick without quite realising it.

But tonight? Oh, tonight is a doozy.

I’ve realised that I’ve been lying about my height for at least the last three years.

Now, whenever anyone’s asked me how tall I am, I’ve always proudly said “Five foot four and a half. And that half is very important.” I’m a short young woman, I am fine with that. I was once asked if I was a person of restricted height (I have no idea what the accepted term for that is, so we’ll stick with something relatively safe.) whilst sat on a stool in Edinburgh. I laughed it off at the time, getting off the stool to prove the point that I wasn’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with being short. OH LORD THIS IS A MINEFIELD.

But when I was helping my housemate with the measurements for his graduation robes the other week, I thought it would be “fun” to see how the reuse of the house measured up. LITERALLY MEASURED UP. SEE? THAT’S HOW YOU USE LITERALLY PROPERLY, EVERYONE. Obviously, I was the shortest one one in the house, and I didn’t think much of it until this evening.

Because I am not 5″4.5″. I’m 5″3′. I’m 160cm tall. I’ll be wearing the shortest available size of graduation robe come November. And *yes*, for those of you asking, that extra inch and a half does make a world of difference, am I right guys?


[No, that wasn’t just a cheap dick joke. Well it was, yes. But the point still stands, albeit a little shorter, that I’ve been kidding myself about my height for a stupidly long time. And I can’t even claim that a beehive would make up for the lack of actual height I have, because my sodding graduation cap won’t fit over it. TRAGIC.]



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