The other day I was out to lunch in the Gold Coast with a friend and her her little sister. It was one of those Chicago Saturdays where the sun manages to peep out from behind the clouds. Casting a hint of yellow light across the city, it reminds us that it does still exist even though we have not seen a glimmer of it's rays for over 6 months. The peeping sun gives Chicagoans an electric charge. All of a sudden smiles replace their previous expressions of teeth-gritting agony from the snap of whipping wind across their noses. There is a lilt in their step as they walk down Rush. I would imagine this is a direct effect of suddenly having shed 5 pounds worth of parka instantly.
As we watched the Gold Coasters stroll by and break out their designer sunglasses for the first time since October, my friend's sister noted the amount men of significant stature that passed through our viewpoint at the corner table in Tavern on Rush's busy bar.
"I definitely need to move down to the city," said MacKenzie- a fellow tall girl standing about eye level with me at 5'11 or so- "This is where all the tall guys are!"
Casting an apologetic look at me she said "I cannot get over the tall thing. I have got to have a guy who is taller than me..."
This got me thinking, when did I decide to give up the search, desert the mission and abandon the quest of so many long legged and ample torsoed other women? When did I decide that I wasn't going to hold out anymore for the guy who I could "where heels with" or who "made me feel small"? I guess the answer is, I never really decided that I was no longer going to hold out for that perfect 6'5 guy. No, it was more that once I let my guard down a little, I was swept off my feet and before I knew it had fallen for a perfect guy-who happens to be 5'6.
While I can't really rely on my guy to "make me feel small"- there are very few instances where I can recall ever feeling small in my entire life. One of my oldest memories is staring in the mirror during my 4-year-old, kinder- ballet class and realizing that I towered above all of the other little girls in the . I can remember wondering why I looked so different. After all, wasn't I the same age as all the rest?
Wearing heels, however, I have discovered is not only for the tall girls who happen to have tall boyfriends or those who wear them as measure to determine whether a guy meets the minimum height requirement while out on the town. In fact, the best part about having a guy who is a little shorter is the freedom to wear whatever height heels you like. After all, ballet flats or stilletos my guy doesn't mind and I'll still be the ceiling skimmer in the relationship.
