Lamentations of a man oppressed by a midget’s short person’s world:
Shower heads come to mid-chest on me. I’ve developed a permanent stoop from years of bending over to wash my hair—and then from scrunching down to see my reflection in the mirror, typically placed navel high, so that I can comb it.
Yes!
The lamentations of the tall when it comes to airplane seats are too obvious to mention. As is our inability to fit into any bathtub or fully on any bed.
I’m not so tall that sitting in a plane is irksome (standing is another matter), but to the tub and bed: Yes! and Yes!
Pants for the tall are a cruel joke. Even if they carry labels that promise lengths of 35 or more inches, we know that these labels are a lie. Yes, the legging material may stretch for yards and yards, but there is never enough space where it counts. These pants are called “short-rise†for obvious reasons.
Yes!
I’m not sure how we, the tall, will be able to overcome these horrific adversities.
I fear it’s more than an adversity. It’s a conspiracy. You don’t think all of the midgets on TV are a coincidence, do you?
And have you ever cruised the pants section at the store? 34-30? 30? Who has legs that stumpy? I don’t think I could have worn a 30-inch inseam even when I was in the third grade. And have you noticed that those 34-30 pants, or some similar midget’s stumpy-leg’s short person’s inseam sizes are the only ones on the shelf? What should that be telling these people about what sizes are being bought? Do these people not pay attention to their inventory?
Or shirts. Right before we left for NYC I bought a L(arge) shirt and packed it. When I got to NYC, I could barely get the damned thing on, the sleeves were a half-inch above my wrists, and there was no way I could have put the shirttail in my pants without singing soprano. Large? For whom, muppets? And before you type that snarky reply, yes, I can wear L shirts, when they’re large, as in for normal human beings.
Or how about the permanent lumps on the top of my head from doorways, chandeliers, ceiling fans, you name it. Or the tin can cars, the ones I have to fold myself in half to get into, then take fifteen minutes to get out of. You wonder why I drive an Explorer? Cause I can get in and out without having to do yoga, that’s why. And when I look around, I don’t see seas of midgets stumpy legs short men, either. I’m only 6′1, and that’s not unusually tall. My mother was 5′10. I bet she had a hell of a time buying clothes.
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Yep, building codes stipulating counter heights at 32 inches and I gave up flying years ago. As for shoes and clothes - I long ago figured that the kind of off-the-rack cheap crap that I wear is made in China and… well I won’t be rude.
Ahem. I’m a bit taller than 5′11″, and I take a 30. Some of us have short legs.
No crap! When I can find 34-inch inseam pants I stock up on them. My husband looks ridiculous in 32-inch pants, but that’s usually the longest I can find.
I wear 34-30. Sometimes, even a 36-30.
Yes, I need to diet and exercise.
I wear 30 inseams. But only because I can’t find 29s, and it’s a PITA to shorten them.