Short People

Most of the time I forget I'm short.  I know, if you ever see me or see a picture of me, you probably wonder how I could possibly forget such an obvious thing.  After all, I married a man over six feet tall, and I hit five feet only with some effort.

Nonetheless, I think my height is the right height from which to view the world, and the rest of you are all overcompensating.  After all, the taller you are, the more likely you are to notice things like dust and spider webs on high shelves, fan blades, and picture frames. 

I do have moments, though, when I think being short makes some things difficult -- nearly impossible.  Recently, I confessed to my distressing ability to not-fold sheets.  I firmly believe that the entire problem comes from being short.  Sheets, by definition, are taller than most people, but even if I stretch my hands as high over my head as I possibly can, and say, "Blast off!"  (Oh, wait.  That's from Little Einsteins.  Let me try that again.)  Even if I raise my arms, I still cannot hold on to the top of the sheet without several feet dragging on the floor.  I wonder if I stood on the couch while trying to fold the sheets if I would have any better luck, provided I can keep my balance on the cushions.  Of course, if all I am going to do is remove a sheet from the dryer and then drag it all around like PigPen with his blanket, why am I bothering to wash it in the first place?  The better solution is to wait until someone overly tall comes home and let them take care of it.

Of course, on the same day I was last attempting to fold sheets, I also had to put the pool towels away.  The pool towels live on top of the linen closet, in the narrow bathroom.  The top shelf is even more over-my-head than most closet shelves, and with a stack of pool towels over 18 inches high, shoving won't work.  They just fall back.  Aiming and heaving won't work either.  The top of the closet door is too low to let me "aim and throw," and the rather idiotic configuration of the door to the bathroom and the closet door have stymied my attempts to get a chair into the room.  I am left with Toddler's potty stool as my only height-increaser, and that thing has a weight limit.  Please, don't even get me started on the pillows.  I have several sitting in the bedroom waiting for the mythical tall person to come and put them away for me.  (DH has stepped over them for weeks now, so I suspect he will not be volunteering any time soon.  I'm not sure what he thinks they are doing there on the floor.  Perhaps we are being extra-nice to the kitties.)

Then, this morning,we had the "vacuuming the spare bedroom" incident.  The skies are overcast, presumably because Hurricane Earl is stirring up all kinds of cloudiness about 200 miles away in the ocean, so the sunlight that I rely on to help this house feel less cave-like is noticably missing.  No big deal, right?  Turn on the light, right?  "The light" in this room is attached to the fan, and is currently only usable by a pull chain ... that is about half an inch long and attached at the base of the bulb ... on the ceiling.  So, I vacuumed the room in the dark, by the dim light of the hallway and the Hurricane-Earl-Obscured-Sunlight.  I know better than to think any tall person is going to come by and vacuum this room.  People in this house seem to think vacuuming is for short people because we can see dirt on the carpets better.  Hmph.