Dear E. Jean: I’m a short girl.
For some reason, everyone feels the urge to remind me of it. It’s exhausting; sometimes it even hurts. I don’t understand why I have to constantly hear: “Oh my God! You’re so short!” I know I’m short. Am I surrounded by people with the social skills of preschoolers? Please help me get over it, or suggest a comeback! —Love, A Gorgeous, but Short, Medical Resident
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Dr. Gorgeous, Take Pity: Where is your compassion? Where is your mercy? Show a little ruth for the tall women of the world—the giantesses! The Gargantuas! The models! Gisele Bündchen! You’ve studied quantum theory. What runs the universe? Subatomic particles. Viz, short bodies.
But because so many half-wits do not grok this fact, you may respond with one of the following to the cretins who clamor, “You’re so short!”:
The Lewis Carroll
“Yes, I know! I know! I’m short! But you see, I was chasing this rabbit who had a large pocket watch and I tumbled down this rabbit hole, and there was a bottle that said DRINK ME, and I did, and so I’ve been wondering, do you have any…mushrooms?”
The J.R.R. Tolkien
“Ah, yes. I’m short. But like the Hobbit, I can eat seven meals a day.”
The Destruction of the Planet
“Short, forsooth! My carbon footprint is half the size of yours!”
This letter is from the E. Jean archive.