The Family Bones

Growing up in my family, short was beautiful, unless you were a male. Then the taller the better. I’m serious. You could have the face of a frog, the temper of a rattlesnake and all anyone seemed to see was how tall you stood next to an old door.

Don’t get me wrong, intelligence was high on the list, but it didn’t help out looks wise. I was sure there was a chart somewhere that said, five foot two and under, adorable, five foot five, drop dead gorgeous. Over five foot five and a half, healthy. They were not exactly unkind, after all.

Bone structure did not figure into this either. My sister, who is beautiful inside and out, has short hands, still her fingers make two of every finger I have, but she was small so they were” tiny.” I was tall, so I had the hand of my forefathers, the German farmers. Except I don’t.

I have very long slim hands and feet. Every part of me is long, narrow and slim, except my face and the fat on these bones. I see the pictures of me now and I know this. I was a lovely looking person, just like most people are. It is just too bad I had to wait so long to figure it out. Now, if I lost all this weight and put a drawstring on the top of my head, I could pull all the wrinkles up and hide them under my curly hair.

Of course my personality would be the same and this big bundle of doubts I am carrying around are going to make me hunchbacked if I don’t let go of them.