I Come From a Land Down Under

I'm short.

Not freakishly short, mind you, but short enough that I've contemplated disabling my driver's side airbag, just in case.

During my tortuous school days (when I was short with a boy's haircut, braces, glasses, a weird name, and plastic hoop earrings), it used to really get me down.

"Dear God, it's me, Rimarama. Please let me get my period before Dawn Bachmeier, let T.J. Trumpower like me and, even if we don't get married, please make it so that he asks me to the Howdy Dance. And Dear God, please let me grow at least four more inches in Jesus' name, Amen."

I'm a bit more comfortable in my skin these days, but every once in awhile somebody will come along and burst my bubble.

Like today at Jazzercise.

(I left the J-dog with my parents, in case anyone is interested.)

I was minding my own business before class got underway, practicing my deep breathing exercises and copying the warm-up stretches the lady in front of me was performing in a nonchalant "I do this all the time" kind of way, when I noticed the girlfriend to my left was checking me out.

At first I assumed she was coveting my totally kick-ass leopard print leotard and crazy stripe leg warmers, but after a time, she turned to me and said,

"How tall are you? Because you are NOT five feet tall!!!!"

(Fur bristles, talons release. Engage Rimarama fight mode.)

Because excuse me? Did I forget to take down the sign on my back? The one that sez I'm "FIVE FOOT FOUR AND FULL OF MUSCLE" ????

For what other earthly reason could this person be so interested in whether or not my stature reaches the highly esteemed five foot mark?

Rather than karate-chopping her a$$ according to my first instinct, I gingerly turned my head to face my attacker.

(Gingerly, because it's almost Christmas and plus, I woke up with a touch of vertigo this morning. Word to the wise: vertigo and Jazzercise, not a winning combo. Post for another day, my friends.)

"Just barely and not quite, why do you ask?" I said brightly.

I sized her up and that's when I saw it.

Girlfriend and I were at eye level. She was just as vertically challenged as yours truly, except bigger boned, if you will.

(But I knew I could take her down, if need be, 'cause I'm full of muscle.)

But no harm, no foul, my friends!

It turns out she was just happy to meet a fellow shortypants.

We bonded.

"How old were you when you finally got to ride Space Mountain? OhMahGah, me too!!!!"

"I think Ann Taylor petites have changed their sizing scheme, the bastards."

and

"Were you in love with Michael J. Fox?"

Now we're Best Friends Forever.

Or at least for Jazzercise.