The Short Person Inequality Discrimination Ceiling


I’ve had enough. It’s time to speak up about this injustice that we have allowed for far too long. I’m talking about living in a world designed by giants with no respect for those of us who stopped growing in early high school.

It’s a daily struggle for me. Little things that don’t even register for most people can have serious consequences for this honest, hard-working Australian. Things like:

Getting tomato juice all over my front (and by that I mean boobs) at lunchtime thanks to kitchen benches that are too high.

Being unable to use the top two shelves in the pantry. Or owning one of those handy little step-stools that Grandma had so I can use the pantry. Acceptance is difficult.

Not being able to see myself in the bathroom mirror (and splashing toothpastey water on my shirt while rinsing because the sink is so close).

Having to buy the dolphin-killing canned tuna because I can’t reach the hook and line brand on the higher shelf.

Holding up the line at Subway because the Sandwich Artist can’t hear my order through the sneeze guard.

I sit down, my feet don’t touch the floor. In fact, my knees don’t even reach the edge of the chair so my legs are left sticking up and an awkward angle while everyone else relaxes with ease.

Buying glasses is hard enough, with a narrow face, nose too small to hold the frames up and oddly-placed ears. And when you finally happen across a pair that don’t look comically oversized or have been borrowed from your twelve-year-old nephew, it only takes a day for the euphoria of a perfect fit to wear off and to realise that the spectacles have morphed back into their original shape and are sliding down your nose, leaving you pushing them up constantly like the awkward but lovable sidekick from a movie.

And of course, adding $30 to every pants, skirt or dress purchase for alterations. Do not tell me to shop in the kids’ section; those clothes are too small. And let’s face it, kids shoes look like well, kids shoes. I’m not wearing them.

I ordered an almond croissant recently. It was ENORMOUS. The first few bites were heavenly. Then eating it became work, albeit rewarding. By the last third I was almost crying: I had to finish the jerk. I’d paid six bucks for it and it tasted so damn good. But it was too much. I spent the rest of the day wallowing in my own stupidity. This is not an unusual event.

You are an adult, the world says, this is your home now. But I don’t fit! I scream.

I feel like Goldilocks. I’m stuck between the adult world that is too big, and the kids’ world that is too small.

Does Kylie Minogue, who is the same height as me, have this problem? Or has she spent her money on tailors and custom-made furniture so as to make her entourage feel like the odd people out? Does she have someone to hand-catch tuna the ethical way? Maybe that’s why her sister launched her petites range with Target: so that poor Kylie can have something to wear (and so Dannii can borrow a few things like a good sister does).

And you know who I blame? The government.

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