Everyone who knows me knows that I am, well, pocket-sized. Most of the time, I think this is great. Everyone loves little cute things (see: puppies, babies, stuffed animals, baby shoes), and airplane seats are just that much less uncomfortable when you're my size. Plus, when you're barely 5 feet tall and barely 100 pounds, normal accomplishments like running a 5k come with an added sense of pride at keeping up with bigger folk. Sometimes, though, the petite life can be a (little) challenging.
I like to keep a sense of humor about it. Do I have to tell the stranger talking to me in line for the bus to New Haven that I'm not actually going on a college tour like her daughter? On sleepy days when I show up in jeans and ill-fitting sweaters, can I blame my bad wardrobe on the fact that the store didn't carry my size? Should I feel guilty that plumbers and handymen put in extra effort to fix problems in my apartment, usually accompanied by fatherly advice and a story about their own daughter?
But the latest example of why it can be so gosh darn fun to be little came while bridesmaid dress shopping. I was introduced to The Little Borrowed Dress, which is a very cool business model that rents bridesmaid dresses specifically designed to fit a range of body types. Features such as adjustable straps, elasticized bust and waists, and A-line skirts make sure that most people can wear each of their dresses. As an added guarantee of the perfect fit, they send you two different sizes of your dress. Awesome, right?
Then I looked at their sizing guide. My measurements placed me solidly at or below the smallest size.
Colin suggested that if I went with a dress from The Little Borrowed Dress, I should request my size - the smallest - and, as my second "backup" size, the very largest. Just to give the employees something to wonder, and laugh, about.
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