October 28, 2010 4 Comments
I never paid much attention to it before…
That is until I was living in Vancouver.
And the only reason I did was because there was such an OBVIOUS difference that one couldn’t help but notice:
I am tall.
And yet to me… I am simply average.
I never distinguished myself as neither tall or short…
But then again, I never had to pay much attention.
In my hay day, pre-back hernia, I would wear nothing shorter than 3” heels.
So I was aware that I did stand taller than most of my female counterparts.
But in my social circle, I am simply average height.
In fact, most of the amazing ladies in my life are taller than I am.
Genetically, I am pre-disposed to tallness…
All of the men in our family are 6’ and taller.
My meager 5’8” was no big deal.
Even the women in our family are tall.
No one told me I was born into a family of giants.
I never had problems finding men much taller than I to date.
Height, albeit was at one time requirement to date ‘this ride’ (I used to jokingly say “You had to be this tall to get on this ride” with my arm raised over my head and then pointing at myself) – wasn’t ever really something I paid much attention to since most of the people around me were… well, my height or taller.
Or really not THAT much shorter than I to even make much of a difference.
That was until I lived in Vancouver.
God Evan Almighty…
Vancouver is a city of shorter people.
Considerably shorter than my 5’8” – I often felt like a giant on the public transit, standing clearly shoulder-neck taller than most, including men.
I quickly decided to change the height requirement for ‘this ride’ and look at a man’s overall worthiness differently.
Mind you, I also make the conscience decision to not date much either but that is a much different topic all together.
So I was excited at the prospect of coming back to the land of ‘giants,’ where I wouldn’t feel so freakishly tall, when I moved back to SW Ontario.
But much to my dismay… I work for a company of short people.
I continue to tower over women, even when I wear flat no-heeled shoes.
It appears the average height for women at the company is… oh say, 5”0 – 5”3 maybe.
Thank god it wasn’t a requirement for the job, I would have been screwed royally.
It’s a very odd feeling for me.
And now as I prepare to embark on a journey to the Middle East, I was told yet again, KC – they will stare at you. Because you are tall. Taller than most men even. Don’t be offended if they stare and talk about you.
My Canadian counterparts tell me I’m tall.
To the Omani’s – I will be a freak.
A curvy, thick, wickedly curly haired, freakishly tall Western female.
If I thought I stood out before, I must mentally prepare myself for standing out even more, yet again.
So much for inconspicuously blending into the landscape… where I would gladly hide behind others.
Instead, I will have two fearful lil women hiding behind me… who will blend in beautifully in a land of the vertically challenged desert people… where, surely, I will be shot first because I will be easily identifiable.
The only thing taller than me will be the camels.
Who would have thought that my height would cause me such consternation?
This adventure should prove to be nothing ‘short’ of interesting… LOL
(OK… so I know Oman isn’t a war-torn country that parts of the Middle East are but still – I don’t really want this kind of attention… I already stand out as it is … but my physical configuration and Western demeanour already identifies me as an ‘outsider’ makes me a target for unwanted attention)
The average women’s height in…
I was born into a family of freakishly much taller than average people.
I am a freak.