I’m 6 feet tall...rounded to the nearest foot. Okay, technically, I’m 5'6". (Okay, more like 5'5.5", but that's besides the point.) Anyway, for a girl, my height is “average." I'm right in the middle of the pack. I'm ordinary. Generic. In other words, I'm bitter.

If the rest of my family were below 4 feet, I would not be nearly so bitter. In fact, I would be basking in my tallness, laughing at them gleefully as they struggle to reach objects on high shelves. Unfortunately, they laugh at me instead. If your younger siblings are taller than you, it doesn’t matter how tall you are--you’re forever the runt of the litter. And I, the first-born, am that runt.

At 17 years, I'm 5 feet 6 inches *cough* 5'5.5" *cough*, right? Well, my mother is 5’10”, and my father is a whopping 6 feet. My "little" sister, who is about a year and a half younger, is 5’8”, and my 13-year-old brother…let’s just say he’s “tall.” After a little math, it is obvious that I'm...errr...vertically challenged. Who did this to me, I do not know, but that person is going to pay!

I mean, I'm barely taller than my grandmother, and she shrank a bit. Some of my younger cousins are at least a foot taller than me; I talk to their bellybuttons. I firmly believe they wouldn't recognize my face because they've only seen the top of my head. My only consolation is that my 20-pound border terrier has yet to reach knee height, the midget.

The doctor lied to me. She said I’d be 5’7”. Of course, this was when I was 5, but still. I used to find the thought of being 5’7” depressing, wanting to be at least as tall as my mom. Now I'm doing yoga in the hopes that stretching will increase my height by a hundredth of a millimeter or two.

It really sucks to be short. You have to jump to reach things on the top shelf of the grocery store. Everyone pats your head. You need a running start to touch the basketball net. Your pant legs drag on the ground. Sometimes people bump into you because they “didn’t see you.”

Of course, there’s always the option of wearing high-heeled, big-soled shoes, but who really wants to live their life in constant fear of being “caught?” If you ever took off your shoes, people would gasp and start whispering amongst themselves. Finally, they’d send some pimply, hapless “ambassador” to shuffle up to you and mumble, “Hey…what happened to you? You used to be, um…tall.” I removed two of the vertebrae from my back while you looked the other way, you bleeping moron.

Fine, I’m short. I admit it. I’m compact, economical size. I’m environmentally friendly: I have a close relationship with the ground that few share. I can get up from a stool without my height changing. I am simply closer to mother Earth than most people, closer to the children.

Just wait, all you tall people. Someday you’ll run into a low doorframe or hanging chandelier, and guess who’ll be laughing then? The munchkins you fall on top of. Ha!