On being short…

I don’t really feel short, but I guess the general verdict is that I am. I’m used to having to climb up on counters to reach the top cupboards; look around the grocery store for someone tall who’s willing to help me get to the cereal on the top shelf; wait for Daddy to get home before I refill the bird feeders; stand on tiptoe to see what’s inside the glass cases at bakeries and sub shops; you know…the typical “short stuff.”

This morning I got a new experience to add to the list. I sent a few files to Kinko’s yesterday and went by this morning to pick up the order. The cashier pulled out a box and set it on the counter and I opened it up to verify that everything was accurate, while she rang up the order. The cardstock files were on the top, followed by a set of 500 maps and then 500 schedules, so I started pulling out the cardstock to get to the bottom. And then it happened. Halfway through that stack the struggle began.

It took a minute for the cashier to notice I was fighting with the box…or the cardstock…or something. “What are you trying to do?” she asked, the puzzled look on her face an indication that this sort of battle was not one with which she was very familiar.

“I’m trying to check the files at the bottom to make sure they’re accurate,” I answered. “But I’m too short to reach in and pull out all the cardstock.”

The best part? I was wearing 2-inch heels.