Let’s start with the obvious: I misspell. A lot. Not in a cute, quirky way either—more like my fingers and brain are in a long-term disagreement. Spellcheck is my closest coworker, and even it has given up on me sometimes. If you’re reading something I wrote and thinking, “That word doesn’t look right,” congratulations—you’re correct.
I am also shorter than a mini horse. Not metaphorically. Physically. I don’t “stand out in a crowd,” I disappear into it. High shelves are my natural enemy, and I’ve accepted that asking tall strangers for help is just part of my personality now.
My sense of humor is dry. So dry it’s often mistaken for seriousness, rudeness, or emotional unavailability. I will say something absolutely deadpan, and people will pause, waiting for the joke. That pause? That’s the punchline. If you didn’t laugh, that’s on you.
I own too many shoes. Not practical shoes. Not “walk a mile in them” shoes. Shoes that suggest a lifestyle I do not live. Shoes that imply brunch, events, and plans when in reality I’m going home early. I don’t regret this.
As for fashion—let’s be clear—I am not a fashion icon. I am more of a fashion… suggestion. A cautionary tale. I dress like someone who started with confidence and then got distracted halfway through. Somehow I manage to look both overthought and underprepared at the same time.
What I lack in height and spelling ability, I make up for in side-eye. My side-eye is elite. Olympic-level. I don’t even have to move my head—my eyes do all the work. It has ended conversations, communicated disappointment, and protected my peace without me saying a word.
Despite all this, I get by. I survive. I mispell my way through life, dress like a question mark, and quietly judge situations with my eyes alone. I may be short, sarcastic, and fashion-confused, but I’m self-aware—and honestly, that’s doing a lot of the heavy lifting.
If nothing else, I’m consistent. And in this economy, that counts.
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