Short people got no reason to
My kitchen, or rather, the kitchen in this house that is ours, was designed for tall people. I know this because to reach the top shelf, or the back of the second shelf, in the cupboards, I need a step stool. Sometimes even that is not enough and I need to stand on the counter which sets a very bad example for the children. Who are also short, although in their cases it may be but a passing whim whereas in my case, it is now a set part of my character.
I also know this because when a cupboard door is open, the bottom corner of that door, the sharp, hard bottom corner of that door, is at exactly the right height to knock me senseless. To brain me. To leave a lump on my noggin like a… like a… well, like a large painful lump. Hands full of pretzels, I sauntered blithely out of the kitchen to deliver salty sustinance to my progeny when badabooooom, I was on the floor, birds tweeting and stars circling, still clutching pretzels but saying ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.
The children blew kisses but did not think it serious enough to fetch ice, a doctor or a whiskey. Hard hearted souls, all those whose heads float safely below or above the wretched corner of the cupboard door.
I have a phobia of cupboard doors. I’ve not actually beaned myself with one, but I can feel it coming deep in my bones. My (much taller) boyfriend doesn’t have this fear and leaves the doors open, while I follow behind and close them all.
And yet in our house it is the taller person who more often closes the cupboard doors, for I am not (unlike the offspring) immune to the charms of the sneak door ambush. If only I’d been at home at the time the lump might not be on Stuntmother’s head…
I’m tall and I still manage to hit myself on the cupboard door. I feel your pain!!
I’ve been reading your blog for a couple of weeks now and I really enjoy your writing. Today’s post says so much…
My dad died when I was not quite 13 and I wore my grief and the hardships of getting on with things like a badge of honor. It became so central to “who I was” as a teenager. Consequently, I was often misunderstood.
As an adult I find that my whole difficult growing-up experience has set the stage for a rich life of gratitude and joy, especially as I watch my kids grow. I am a much happier adult than I ever was a child. Hopefully the same will be true for my daughter, who is 15 now. It is truly hard to be a teenage girl.
I went to Loop today – first time there. I usually shop at Rosie’s when I am in town for a yarn fix. I am sure there must be some other good shops – do you know of any?