I wish....

Some days, I wish I was a Viking.  Boom!  How's that for an introduction?

Nah, I'm just kidding.  I just thought it'd be fun to start out a post like that. 

In real life, I wish I was taller.  Not like, Viking-tall.  Just like 6'2 tall.  I don't think that's too much to ask for.  I can remember being a kiddo and going to Payless Shoes and the nice men and women that worked there would measure my feet with that foot measurer-do-hicky-thing and they'd always say:

"Wow.  How old are you?"

"Seven."

"You're going to be tall."

"Now when you say tall, you mean..."

"Over 6 feet for sure!"

"Awesome!  Mom did you hear that?... Mom?  Where are you?"

"I think she went back in the car."

"Hm."

That last part is fuzzy but it went something like that.  Anyway, I've been told my entire life that I would be taller than I am.  I've even held onto the fact that some men continue to grow until their 25 (that's only one more year for me).  But I haven't grown since 9th grade and truth of the matter is, I'm stuck here.

I'm stuck with a 15-30 degree angle that my neck has to sit on in order to talk to most people eye-to-eye.  I'm stuck with the fact that when I go in for a hug, I have to nuzzle below while people rest their chins on my head.  I'm stuck with the fact that I have stereotyped all shoe salespeople to be liars and terribly insensitive.

And worst of all, I'm stuck with a wingspan of 6'2 while my body stands only 5'10.

That's right.  My arms got the message.  They grew like they should have.  But my legs and torso are set in their ways (pun intended). 

The world is a cruel, cruel place.