London Bridge

I am a very short woman and I am ok with it. It adds to my cute preciousness and keeps me looking youthful. There are times when this presents interesting challenges like sometimes things are just out of my view or physical range. It can be slightly awkward in a store when I have to call for help reaching something or wait around for someone walking by to take pity on me as I teeter on my tippy toes before resorting to climbing the shelves. Yes, I have done this, and yes I have made a lot of things fall over. Luckily at home I am equipped with a step ladder and a very tall, leggy roommate so, as far as reaching things, I have learned to reasonably adapt with my disability.

Shortness also often seems to equate with immaturity and/or incapability. I am often mistaken for a weak high school girl, which I certainly don't mind in cases of heavy lifting. However, when it comes to buying cough medicine or spray paint my ID is ridiculously scrutinized. One time a guy asked me if it was my older sisters card. Really guy? Just give me the NyQuil! There was even an incident at the airport when I was asked where my mother was and if I was old enough to fly alone. Keep in mind you only have to be 12 to travel alone...I was 25. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind looking younger and I will be most grateful for it in my 50's, but for now I'm really not a huge fan of waitresses, who are most certainly younger than me, calling me kiddo.

Lastly, doors. My disability does not affect my capacity for opening most doors, but I'm a lady so I appreciate the chivalrous gesture of a politely opened door, slight tip of the hat and a good day ma'am on any occasion. However, I'm slightly confused about the kind stranger who asses my height, opens the door and keeps his hand there, above my head, motioning for me to travel under his arm. It's true I don't have to duck and I will graciously accept the offer, but dude, that was a totally awkward game of London Bridge.