THE RAIN KEEPS EATING MY FEET
by Harper Williams, Contributor
Illustration by Sylvia Cottrell, Contributor
I know that Kim Kardashian is 5’2. This fun fact, that is probably on some Jeopardy study guide somewhere under the category “curviest short women,” is the constant rebuttal I receive whenever I complain about my shortness. Protests of the short are always met with some form of distaste. Of course, I personally would put cancer and maybe Ebola on the higher end of “unfortunate circumstances,” but slightly under-average height is definitely up there.
I’ve always hated my height. I went from being the tallest girl in middle school, to my downfall as the shortest girl in every room forevermore. Curse my ungratefulness! Why do the tall envy the short? Tall women are the most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes on. If I were to personify the idea of one, I would describe her as the daughter of a cheetah and a giraffe who only wears organic makeup and is also the president of the United States of America. Being a fully developed short woman, however, I feel like a toddler who just got a spray tan and is ready to compete in the “Little Miss Beauty Pageant,” winning only a participation ribbon. The average height for women is 5’3, which makes no sense to me as everyone I surround myself with resembles the stature of a Scandinavian runway model. I’m assuming the same is true for the owner of Levi’s.
Out of all the things that suck about being short—awkward group photos, constant high heels, and low caloric intake—pant shopping sucks the hardest. I don’t know what girls the various pants CEOs hang out with, but I’m assuming they’re somewhere in the Guinness World Records collection. You have to be an artist to try on pants as a short girl; an artist similar to Rothko and Van Gogh, who both resorted to suicide. The process is tiresome and sweaty, and always involves a worker standing outside the fitting room asking how each one fits. And as the fluorescent white lights spotlight your American Girl Doll-esque legs, you reply, “None of them fit. They are all too long, and too tight.”
When I’m shopping for pants, I ask if they have the “Petite,” option, which I hate more than anything. When the request leaves my lips, I imagine myself as a part of the Little Rascals. I feel like I should be addressing the Kohls worker as “Mister,” with an obnoxious lisp, and then maybe add an “Oh boy, aren’t I a phony,” to really seal the deal. Unfortunately, my rascal request is met with option A or B. Option A is that they only carry “Regular” styles. “Um, excuse me? My legs are perfectly regular, mithter!” Option B is that they do carry “Petite” styles. The worst part about this answer is that the “Petite” styles look like normal pants that shrunk in the dryer or were made to fit a young Justin Bieber. So, in most cases, I cut my losses and go with the “Regular.” The rain, however, has a diet of these “Regular” pants, and it eats them up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Like most airborne diseases, “short season” arrives in the Fall. When the weather gets chilly, the rain starts pouring, and the bottoms become longer, that is when my “Regular” option becomes a bad choice very quickly. Coming from Southern California, this has always been a slight issue, but Oberlin is a whole new world. The unforgiving rain here comes with a vengeance for anyone under 5’4, and it uses its evil puddles to try and swallow my community whole! The bottoms of all of my pants look as if Kujo slobbered on them, ate them for every meal, and was on cocaine while doing it. In my experience, corduroys get hit the hardest in the rain; the delicate fabric ripped and torn away by the wrath of Poseidon in an attempt to wash away any memories of the 1970s. My jeans look as if they are costumes from the set of Twister. In attempts to combat this, I have turned to cuffing my jeans. It may be the short community’s only attempt at preserving their stubby Raggedy Ann-like legs.
If you have a short friend, help them out during this treacherous time; I hear that piggy-back rides are the most helpful. Also, as a society, maybe it’d be best to bring back capri-pants.
