the meek shall inherit the earth

“Dear God,

You once said that the meek shall inherit the earth. The meek are NOT inheriting the earth.
The meek are being done like a dinner. Please do something to help the meek.
Love, Henni”

~ 45 & 47 Stella Street and everything that happened – Elizabeth Honey

Reminders of my diminutive size are a daily occurrence, whether they come from people (“aww, Minnie, you're so cute, don't grow!”) or from inanimate objects (I nearly got rolled over by a bin the other day, but that's another story). With claims that homo sapiens is getting taller and taller by the generation, it left me pondering, is it really that great to be “meek” in stature?

You know you're short...when you have never been “carded” in your life.

Typically, I most enjoy cheating the government and other institutions just because of their foolish preconception that short people are also young people. While I'm not sure exactly how much I've saved by buying child tickets on public transport, in cinemas and before historical monuments (such as the Doge's palace in Venice, where Adult tickets are 12 Euros and Child tickets are 3), I would prefer not to count it so that you won't think of me as a cheap little scammer. I suppose a less illegal method of saving money comes through buying children's clothes, which are on average 20% less expensive. More so when it comes to jeans - I have never paid above $30 for a pair of jeans. And I hopefully never will! Unless inflation...

But being mistaken for a kid is not always fun and games – I will probably never own a pair of designer jeans. Unless commercialism...And just recently my cousin said to me, “you look like a 14-year-old driving a car!” (last time I ever give HIM a lift!). I also find myself being accused of antisocialism just because I can't be bothered to get someone to believe that I am actually above the legal age to consume fermented drinks, or get into clubs.

You know you’re short…when you're over eighteen, but guys sing the “make up” song at you.

Make-up; it makes them look legal so guys wanna grab them and get them in bed.
Sometimes, I think, “I would hit that”, but then a cop says to me, don’t do it yet.
Not yet, not yet…

BUT on the upside, I'll never be accused of cradle-snatching...tralalalala, Carrie, I'm not referring to you at all...Now if you're a girl, and you're short, you're often told that you'll never have a problem finding a boyfriend, because of the stigma associated with dating someone shorter than you. But these tall people have never come out of a party with a stiff neck, not because it's an early symptom of the meningococcal which you've picked up through too many hook-ups, but because you've been talking to people who are ridiculously tall. Speaking of that, dear readers, do you want to know a secret, why I have never snogged a guy? Not only am I a total hag (thank you, Emma, for your valuable input), and not only am I frightened by the microbiology practicals which show the fungi and bacteria living in everyone's mouths, but I am so vertically challenged that I am virtually invisible to them. Literally – I went to a party once, making the terrible mistake of wearing flats, and even though I was waving at people like crazy, due to the fact all of them were at least a head above me (girls were wearing heels, and boys are always tall), nobody noticed me, until I found Carrie, who is about 5cm taller than me.

I also ought to admit that another sad thing is that I haven't been attracted to a short person for a long time (unless you count Daniel as short, which some people do). I suppose my subconscious is screaming, “DON'T GO NEAR A GUY WHO'S UNDER SIX FEET TALL UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR KIDS TO BE MIDGETS!”

Anything else?

When people ask you, “so what high school are you at?” and you have to correct them that you're a tertiary student.

When people say, about you and your younger brother, “it's impossible to tell which one of you is older!”

When people think you're just your boyfriend's younger sister's friend. OR even worse, that you ARE his younger sister.

And...you knew this was coming. You know you're short...when you get attacked by a bin...

The world is not made for short people. Well the Western world certainly isn't. Our local council forces us to recycle everything from milk cartons to weeds by giving us a bin for “general waste” that is a third of the size of the next smallest bin. So, one night, my father yells, “Minerva! The bins!”, and so I head outside, open the gate and push the bins out one by one. The last bin I take is the “Garden Bin”, which is toilet-door green, the diameter of a chair and nearly as tall as I am (which I know doesn't say that much...but still...). I have to get this monstrosity down my hill of a driveway and onto the road; I start off pushing it, inch-by-inch, down the hill, until friction and gravity decided to despise me, nearly ripping my arms out of their sockets and accelerating away. It ends up on the middle of the street in one piece. So I start backing it up so that the monster bin is standing in the gutter, and got sandwiched between the bin and the retaining-wall-esque side of the road. What a great way to start the week! (our garbage day is Monday)

I've written about how I think it's the “Western World” that's guilty of neglecting people like me – one perfect example is how high supermarket shelves are. While in many Asian countries, where short people are the majority, step-stools are commonly found in the vicinity of supermarkets, the only ladders I see near my local Coles say “STAFF ONLY”. But hey, I guess you can be creative. I once picked up a guy by asking him to get my favorite kind of coffee because I couldn't reach it. (It didn't go anywhere though)

My dad's car is also a perfect example of inconsideration towards short people. When I push the seat up, I can't reach the pedals, and when I push it down, I can't see over the dashboard. Why are German people so tall? Other objects guilty of discrimination include lanyard headphones, which I have on occasion tripped over, non-adjustable chairs,

I have also been having a hate-hate affair with anything labeled “one size fits all”.

You know you're short...when every morning you wake up and thank god you're a girl

“Do you know of Dr Freud, Mr Esme? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you...”
~ Rose Dawson – TITANIC

I've been extremely sexist in this rant so far, having not written from a male perspective – but now I'm just about to get even worse. Sorry boys. But this discussion wouldn't be complete without some thought given to how much more amazing life is if you're short and female, than if you're short and male. I really sympathize with short guys; as discussed above, short girls like me seem to avoid them thanks to “survival of the fittest” genetic theory, and tall girls just won’t be able to notice them.

Moreover, being short has not only turned me into an instant chin- and arm- rest for the vertically blessed, but also a victim of those who find entertainment in lifting up small children and running away with them. Unfortunately these shallow bastards often mistake “small adults” for “small children”, with the result that I scream like a car alarm…Unless it's one of my beautiful friends Christabel or Zsa Zsa who are my official givers of piggyback rides. Admittedly however, I will probably have to eat my words when I find someone a la Anakin Skywalker/Hayden Christensen in Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. To quote my friend Jo: “See, this is the ONE good thing about being short like Natalie Portman; your boyfriend can pick you up and spin you around!” But, somehow the mental image you get if you reverse the characters involved is not nearly as appealing. So, Jo, aren't you glad you're a girl?

You know you’re short…when you’re practically perfect in every way…

That’s right darlings, the best things come in the smallest packages.