Lil' Kim and the Twins

No, I did not write the letter to Dear Prudence asking for advice on how to handle comments about one’s short stature. Although I’m 4’11“ too, it didn’t wreck my self-esteem (I had family for that). Still, I know of what the letter-writer speaks.

I’ve had people use my head as an armrest, for instance. While out walking or in a crowd, I am evidently invisible and get run off the sidewalk or stepped on. Then there’s being physically picked up and whirled through the air, without warning, against my will, while in a restaurant or mall parking lot, which actually happened once or twice on first dates. The boys were astonished that I didn’t want to go out with them again. ”But you’re so little and cute,“ they whined, as if a woman’s littleness and cuteness validated their ”just not able to help myself“ excuses and I should be flattered by their violation of my space.

Of course, there’s a fine subjective line here. Being teased and called ”Shorty“ and being whirled through the air can be fun within the proper context. And if I don’t see that piano or dollop of condor guano headed down from the sky - please, pick me up and move me.

For most people I encounter, the novelty of my lack of height is dissipated somewhat by the novelty of my huge boobs. By some genetic quirk my pygmy body’s got ta-tas better fitted for an Amazon. (Well, the left one anyway, they’d cut the right one off.)

I deal with infinitely more comments about my bosom than about my height, all of them rude, most of them from supposed adults, and women are as bad as men.

Prudie advises the cute little lady that folks probably don’t realize they’re offending her and to list examples of some contemporary stars who share her height. This sounds sane and reasonable and grown-up and it’s not what I do.

Maybe I have too much choleric humour, or maybe it’s because my Mars is in hot-tempered Aries, but folks know when they’ve offended me. ”Better than fat legs,“ I hissed at one woman, giving her a scornful head-to-toe glance. ”The twins are fine, I’ll have a Coke,“ I said with a vicious smile, to a waiter after he asked my breasts what they’d like. If he looked at them after that, it was surreptitiously.

Yes, they’re amazing, wondrous even. I know everyone will look at some point. Just don’t stare. And if you know what’s good for you, do not - ever, ever - ask if they’re real.