“It must be hard being a tall woman”. That’s the pearl of wisdom passed on to my six foot four female friend by some idiot in a café. It was closely followed by “But you’ve got a good physique for a tall woman” and, at the mention of me, a fellow ‘doing-it-tough tall woman’ at six foot three, the man nodded sympathetically and said “Yeah, I bet you flock to your own kind”.
Hmm. She laughed and politely exited. I probably would have punched him in frustration.
Our own kind? We’re not martians. Women over six foot are not freaks. Yes, it’s hard to find pants long enough to fit sometimes, but that’s about the only handicap. Chances are I can see if the tosser who just made some stupid remark about my height is balding/has dandruff. I can reach things on top shelves. I can paint ceilings with just a long-handled roller and don’t need a ladder. It’s not like I do that often, but hey, the option is there if I want it.
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