I get a lot of stick or being little, when really I’m not even that short, I just happen to be the shortest person in my family. I blame my dad because for a man, he’s pretty short and he finds it hard to find trousers in his leg length. My mum gives me a hug and then says ‘Ooh, you are little aren’t you.” She’s an inch taller than me. An inch! My sister is the worst for it because she’s the tallest and three years younger than me. She puts high heels on then parades around telling me I’m so short. No, you’re just freakishly tall!
I stopped growing when I was fourteen and the only thing that’s changed about since then is my hair because I dyed it (though underneath I’m pretty sure it’s going brown). All my friends, who were shorter than me all through primary school, shot up and left me behind. Only my friend Sophie remained shorter than me (she’s shorter or as short as Ronnie Corbett).
But now I find myself in a tall terraced house. I had to buy a stepladder just to reach the window in the living room. The kitchen windows are out of the question. Even with the step ladder my arms aren’t long enough to open and close the windows over the sink. I decided I needed a man, a tall man who can reach up high for me. Ideally, the position should be filled by September 2013.
I would like to point out that I don’t need a tall man because I’m short. I’m not short, I’m normal height, everyone else is just freakishly tall.