Time Wounds All Heels

So, not surprisingly I get referred to as a “little girl” a lot. It usually comes from men over the age of 40. It happened today. One of my employers sends me on weekly lunch pick-up at Anthony’s Italian Kitchen, and Anthony himself always greets me with a smile. Today, he scolded them for sending “such a little girl every week to pick up such a large order.” The Gloria Steinem in me might find these types of comments a tad patronizing. From Anthony, it seemed more fatherly. And being little, small, short, well, it does have its advantages. I win limbos often. Even on rollerskates. People at concerts let me stand up front (perhaps the best perk). Sure, I always have to use the step stool in my kitchen or have strangers help me put the overhead bags up on the plane, but it never ceases to amaze me that other less vertically challenged people are willing to help this little girl out.
I often wonder how old they think I am. Once I visited a zoo in Nashville with my mother, just after turning 21, and the man asked her if she wanted the 12 and under ticket for me. She laughed. I scoffed. If people are assuming I’m younger based on my baby face and lack of inches, are they also treating me with less respect? Am I bound for a severe Napoleon complex? Should I be flattered or frustrated when they call me “little”?
For kicks, my roommate actually enjoys having me squeeze into our very short and narrow pantry. For a mere 5 seconds, I smoosh myself, inhaled belly, between the shelves and the creaky wooden door. Mr. Roommate (www.ebspalding.blogspot.com) then pushes the door taut against my body and voila, I actually fit! I literally fall out of the closet after he opens the door. Anything for entertainment in Maine though.
I used to resort to heels to give me an extra 3 inches, bringing my height to a towering 5”3. I’d spend my entire lunch break perusing the selection at Stiletto on Exchange St. Back then, I’d splurge on shoes or James Jeans, usually at Zane. How quickly I caught the consignment bug, and learned to fashion my outfits with someone else’s jeans. And shoes for that matter. I recently went into Material Objects trying to find heels to match my homecoming dress (yes, an adult homecoming, unofficial Picnic after-party this Saturday). When you’re a little girl, have little feet, and a little cash, Material Objects is the way to go.
I’ll get the heels for the dance this weekend, but about a year ago, I gave up and started wearing flats and flip-flops with just about every outfit I owned. I embraced my small stature. And the mildly patronizing comments. “You’re so short!” “You’re so little!” Yes, both true statements. And I know I may not always be this way (well I’ll always be short, but not always little). So I just respond with a blush and a smile. I learned that boots without heels work well for the cold Maine winter. Leather ones, not so much. But still, I’ve amassed a versatile flat-shoe collection.
Come Saturday, you’ll find me at Space, the insufferable little girl on the dance floor, with blistered feet and an awkward heel-induced gait. I’ll switch over to flats at some point in the night for sure. Heck, if I’m really having fun I might just go barefoot. As one of my friends promises those who come, she’ll twirl for you. I might twirl for you too. Just don’t tell me “Put your shoes on, little lady.” Because that's sexist. I’ll probably twirl anyway.