Remember those yearly elementary class photos when the slightly pedophilic photographer guy with the handlebar mustache would line you and all your classmates up in neat, little rows by height? Well believe it or not, until about the 4th grade I was actually in the taller 50% of the class. That's saying quite a lot because, well, you see...my full grown adult height is a decidedly petite 5ft 3inches.
Genetically, I probably got the best possible height a grandmother of 5 ft, paternal grandmother of maybe 5ft 1 and mother of about 5 ft 2 and a father of 5 ft 8 could give me...but I don't care what anyone says, its definitely a moderate inconvenience to be short.
Case in point: the pants I buy usually need to be shortened (unless, of course, I am fortunate enough to find a petite line that fits well). The pair of pants I put on to wear to work today were shortened about 6 mos ago...and today I realized that perhaps they were too short. To be exact, Andrew was the one to point it out. They definitely reveal a tantalizing bit of sock even if I'm not sitting down. How shocking, indeed. And to think that my husband, not exactly the most attentive to fashion detail (unless it involves revealing things of a flirtatious and feminine nature) was the one to notice.
What I would like to think is that I am growing (yeay, a growth spurt at age 27!) but wait....no...The more unfortunate reality is that these pants have been this fricking short the whole time and I NEVER NOTICED. Think dark brown office-y style pants in a quasi-capri style.
Not good. Not good at all.