We all have attributes that we don’t even think about. We just are them. Like some people have big noses. Others have little chubby hands. Some have short torsos. Others have buck teeth.
We are those attributes, and we tend to be immune to them when we look in the mirror.
For me, my immunity is to my height. I am tall. Bu that is me so I don’t wonder on it often.
Though it may have haunted me as a gawky teenager. Those growth spurts weren’t any fun. But now, as an adult, I rarely notice my own height. And just like a person with a big nose, I don’t think about how many feet tall I am and as I would suppose, they don’t think about how many inches their nose is.
But occasionally I am reminded of my monstrous size.
Like today. Doing something completely mundane I was approached by a middle aged man who asked, “How tall are you?” The question came off more as an accusation of being ridiculously tall rather than an inquiry of my height. My voice fighting the awkwardness I responded honestly, “I am five foot 11&¾ inches… Obviously I got shorted.” I laughed at my own pun. He didn’t respond with words that were understandable…Something about tall women or other. I smiled, but preferred to not ask him to repeat himself in fear of more awkward, inappropriate lines.
I walked away after telling him to have a pleasant morning.
In reflection to the interaction I wonder why it is socially acceptable to ask someone how tall they are, but that it is not okay to ask someone about their weight…
Or if they can touch their toes.