- Because I ate a radioactive cupcake.
- Because I made a deal with the devil.
- Because I ate too many vegetables as a child.
- Because I’m superwoman.
- Because I’m a crossbreeding – half human, half giraffe.
Being 6ft 1in (186 cm) means getting a minimum of three why-are-you-so-tall-questions a week, children measuring themselves by your legs and brats pointing at you saying: “mum, she’s tall”. I’ve also noticed people staring at my feet on the lookout for killer-heels. But no, I’m just this freakishly tall.
The why-are-you-so-tall-question has been thrown at me for years. Not that I mind too much. I don’t go running to the toilet and cry my eyes out just because another person was intelligent enough to observe that I look like a giraffe.
What makes me pause is: how am I supposed to respond to that question? Unless you’d prefer one of the explanations above, there is none. If it’s OK to ask why someone’s tall, then why can’t you ask why someone’s fat? Think about it.
The why-are-you-so-fat-question is a lot easier to answer: “because I stuff my face with chocolate and have a daily eating-marathon with myself. Several times a day.” But apparently that’s rude… The why-are-you-so-tall-question is not that simple to answer unless you want to get into a long conversation about genes and DNA.
My point is, if I may be so blunt: what do you want from me? By all means, I can call my doctor and request a DNA-analysis if you’d like. Just hang on a minute or two and we’ll get right back to you. The other day I was waiting outside a lecture theatre when a random guy walked by, not pausing or stopping, and just said in the most monotone voice ever: “you have long legs”.
This, in a commoner’s eyes, may be taken as a complement. But when you have legs like a crane fly… Not so much. I’m reminded of my long legs every time I attempt to try on jeans and find them only reaching my mid-shin, or, if I’m lucky, my ankle, causing me to have only two completely identical pairs of jeans that look acceptable enough (one of them started tearing the other day and I found myself panicking).
But thank you, Mr. Wise guy. Thank you for reminding me of my abnormally long legs. I might have forgotten it, you know. So, to all you highly intelligent people who constantly find the urge to ask why a tall person is tall – don’t. If you don’t know it yourself, the chance they don’t is pretty big. If you ask me however, my answer is that I decided already in my mothers womb that when I grew up I wanted to be the size of a well-grown tree – it’s all about thinking long-term, you know. And apart from the constant glares I don’t mind the view. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.