The Littlest Red and I got stuck behind some lanky Poles at the gig last night and spent much of the evening on tippy toe, trying to see the DJ do, well, not very much really but that's not the point. We concluded that folk should be graded by height on the way in, with a shortarse section up the front, beanpole corner down the back and an average joe paddock in the middle. The Littlest Red is, as her name suggests, very little. Five foot three and three quarters, she tells me, with the pride of someone telling you that they're nine years, three months and six days old. At five foot seven and a half (see, I do it too!) I'm amazonian by comparison but I've always wanted to be either smaller (petite, like she is) or taller; properly tall, statuesque.
We'd been discussing this in the beer garden and when we came back inside I spotted just such a girl. She must have been six foot in her heels, blunt bob haircut, rangy limbs, confident swagger. Yeah, I thought, that's exactly what I'd go for. I turned around to point her out to the other pair as an illustration of the ideal I'd been trying to explain to them when I heard someone admiringly exclaim "Jaysus! Look at that big bitch!"
*sigh*
We'd been discussing this in the beer garden and when we came back inside I spotted just such a girl. She must have been six foot in her heels, blunt bob haircut, rangy limbs, confident swagger. Yeah, I thought, that's exactly what I'd go for. I turned around to point her out to the other pair as an illustration of the ideal I'd been trying to explain to them when I heard someone admiringly exclaim "Jaysus! Look at that big bitch!"
*sigh*
