I’ve been six feet tall since I was, gosh, I guess thirteen or fourteen. Certainly, before I hit senior high. And despite being the queen in my kindergarten class’s posture contest (why do I remember stuff like this?), being tall is something I’ve disliked all my life. You can tell that in almost any photo of me that features another person. I tend to slouch in a doomed attempt to look shorter. It’s only the solo photos like this one that show me worthy of that posture queen title.
It’s harder to find men, for starters, given we all have this idea that husbands/boyfriends are supposed to be taller than their wives/girlfriends. And let’s not even get into finding pants that are long enough. I end up buying most pants via mail order places like Long Tall Sally, which by the way has dubbed April 16-22 Stall Tall Week to “encourage women to embrace their height and , simply put, stand tall.”
I had to laugh. It reminded me of a conversation I once had with a priest during confession about how I wanted to disappear into the service woodwork at our parish but that I kept seeming to be thrust into leadership positions. He had little sympathy: “Melanie, you’re what, six feet tall? You’re always going to stand out.”
So, I pledge that for this week, I will try to embrace my height, stand tall, and wear heels. Just don’t take any photographs of me with other people–or leave any comments about how you wish you were my height. Honest, you don’t!
