Growing Into It.

I staggered down Main’s ungodly steep sidewalk, high kneeing all the way so as not to trip over the uneven and crumbling slabs of concrete that lay out before me on my walk home from school.. Arching my body backward so as not to fall flat on my face. Although that part wasn’t too hard.. I was the goody two-shoes who brought home next week’s homework. My backpack was compensation enough. I was eight years old. In the second grade.

I walked through our front door, flung down my Lisa Frank folders. And binders. And pencils. And really, anything I could get with those incredibly gaudy yet somehow irresistible glitter and rainbow-clad unicorns on it. I found mom in the kitchen, preparing me an after-school snack. Oh, how I loved her for my after-school snacks. I threw myself at her. And cried. And cried. And cried. And couldn’t stop crying. I was too tall.

We sat at our kitchenette table for two. It was one of those chrome and vinyl combos. White, and peeling at the corners. I picked at the bits, and explained… “They called me Jolly Green Giant today. The kids at school..” Why was I always a foot taller than everyone else? Why was it that Sarah, the tallest third grader, was never made fun of the way I was? And why were kids so mean? I never made fun of them for being so short! Mom consoled me the best she could. Partly with brownies. Mostly by just being there. But that day stuck with me..

You see, because of my complex about my height, I’d never owned a legit pair of heels. Let me rephrase that: I was a GIRL who NEVER owned a pair of heels. And until very recently, my shoe-drobe consisted of all flats. Because although I’m now only a little over average, why would I want to make myself any taller? But then my line of work got to me. All these brides all fancy with their shoes? It was about time that my confidence grew into my height. It was about time for black leather Mary Jane pumps with wooden heels. And these are them. :)

Yes, I may be a Jolly Green Giant. But at least I’m lookin’ fly.