The clothing industry is not catering to my needs.

Is there a self-conscious moment in everybody's life when they're sitting on an examination table, and a doctor looks at old x-rays, then looks at you...and asks, "What happened?" [Horror-struck Laura-face. ] Huh? What's wrong with me? "You should have been about 5'10"," the white coated man with the foot sticking out of his mouth continued. In hindsight, I can see that my young habit with the Mountain Dew wasn't spectacularly brilliant. "Oh, I see now, you had some childhood illnesses." Well he didn't say that specifically, specifically he went into specifics, but you really don't want to read the diaries of a young girl's GI Tract, now do you?

In essence, my growth was stunted, a fact I had not realized until I was 20 years old. For those of you who've met me in person, you might wonder, "How could you not have guessed!?" Well, I don't come from particularly tall stock. My parents' ancestors were skyscrapers, but the generations that have come since have adopted a more diminutive set of genes. Standing at 5-nothing on a good day, I accepted my height.

In middle school, my best friend, holding her hand up to mine, declared, "You have big hands for a little person!" Also, my grandmother never fails to mention the size of my apparently gigantic feet when she sees them. I was used to feeling like a freak of nature by that point, mainly from the aforementioned GI Tract and the constant discomfiture, so the implications didn't really penetrate.



I can tell you with certainty that knowing I was meant to be taller has done nothing to salve the wound. If anything, I have taken to walking around with an indignant attitude and snarling, "Oh yeah! Well I should have been kissing 6'!" whenever a Wal-Mart greeter offers me a sticker, or an Olive Garden hostess asks if I would like crayons. Oh well, in 30 years when I am dancing in my mid-50's and looking about 12 years old, I bet I'll appreciate it then. Grandpa Miles can get the senior discount, and young Laura can sneak in with the children's.

Worst of all, is finding a pair of pants. I buy them in petite, short, Munchkin, and, as Amy likened, Oompa Loompa lengths...and yet, they are too long. Yesterday, I hemmed 3 such pairs of blue jeans. With the residual denim, I fashioned a 3-piece suit for Miles, a pair of stockings for Mom, and a bow for the cat. At least others can benefit, I suppose.