Size Matters

I am hesitant to post this one, as I am about to talk about body parts. Mine. No, don't worry, this isn't going anywhere weird, but last Friday's challenge on Crazy Hip Bloggers, in conjunction with a giveaway from Loose Lips, New York, was to discuss the feature that I like best about myself. First of all, giveaways are always good. Even if I don't win, it's certainly fun trying (but winning is better...).

I rarely spend any money on myself. I think my husband might disagree since by divine right of being a girl, I am much more high maintenance than he is. But I always strive to look nice (and don't feel like I often succeed, as my age is catching up with me, and quickly!), and try to do it with as little expense as possible. I am a true bargain shopper when it comes to clothes (I blame that on 20 years of working in retail and getting discounts and knowing just how far the prices can come down if you wait long enough), I have worked hard to replicate the lovely makeup, skin care and hair potions, obviously made with gold dust and flogged for an arm and a leg in department stores, with things I can find in CVS or Target, and I try to always get haircuts that will still look, um, passable for long periods between cuts (and I mean LONG!). If plastic surgery weren't so expensive and dangerous and painful, I would buy a couple of cup sizes for my chest. My hair color comes directly out of a box, as it has since I was 18, and I dread the day when I discover I'm just too old to keep denying its true color (blech). Given that these are all things that I already change and strive to change about myself, I can hardly say that my favorite feature is included anywhere in the above-mentioned areas. Hence, it must be something that I cannot change about myself.

For as long as I can remember I was always the tallest person, and certainly the tallest girl in my classes at school. It was never an advantage, and always caused me more grief and anxiety than I was willing to admit at the time. It wasn't until I was in college that I dared to wear heels, and that was only after I finally realized that guys didn't care if I was tall or not. The older I got, the more comfortable I became with it, and I'd say that it is certainly my best feature. I no longer feel awkward, I have no problem wearing heels (I miss my early-90s platforms, but alas, fashion still changes with the time...), and being 6' tall has some distinct advantages when standing in a crowd. I rarely hear anymore the very tired, old, "gee, I haven't heard that before" question about whether or not I played basketball in school. (And for those of you who may be dying to ask it yourselves, the answer is "no." I sucked at sports.) I exceed my husband's height by an inch or two (without shoes), and I do lament the fact that Samantha's extra chromosome will likely only get her to about 5'2", regardless of her family's sizes.

Funny how sometimes our best features stem from our perceived worst. But it comes with maturity and a comfort in our own skins.

I leave you now with a pic of my high-maintenance little princess and her two friends, Beth and Marie, playing dress-up (I apologize about the quality of the photo, but it was taken from my phone).