I’ve always been a “tall drink of water”. Growing up I was always off the charts height wise for my age while being in the 80th to 90th percentile for weight. The doctors predicted I’d hit the height of 6′ by the time I stopped growing. My Dad was delighted at the prospect of his daughter being so tall. What better way than to scare off potential suitors? My Mom, on the other hand, wasn’t thrilled since that would mean that all of her children would be taller than her. More than once, I kid you not, she threatened to strap a brick to the top of my head to stop my growth process.

My Mom grew hopeful when, in seventh grade, I stopped growing. Of course, by this time I was 5’10″ so I wasn’t short by any stretch of the imagination but I _was_ the same height as her! (before she, of course, shrank two inches thus forever being shorter then me). While living in Japan you would think I wouldn’t have got any taller. For one, I was sixteen at the time so hadn’t really grown height wise in three years. Also, I was slouching and trying to make myself as short as possible the whole year. It’s no joke when you’re at least a foot taller then all your friends and trying to take a picture. I felt like Godzilla or a really annoying Caucasian photo bomber in every photograph I was involved in.

Seriously, spot me. I’m the only giant smiling since I didn’t know it was uncool to smile.

When I came back to America my Dad was sure that I had grown again while living in Japan. Silly Father, I’d tell him, I only grew fatter, not taller, while living there. (Truth be told I gained about 20 lbs. That’s another story entirely). Finally, after a month of “I swear you’re taller Annie!” we broke out a measuring tape and sure enough, I was 5’11″. Or, if you want to get technical, 5’10 3/4″. Rounding up is so much easier.

Now the point in telling you all of this is so you get this: I’m tall. The last time I wore high heels was when I was eleven and playing dress up with my Mom’s shoes. I’d put on a pair of her high heels and walk sloppily across her bedroom like LOOK AT ME MOM! I’m SEXY! and she looked at me, smirked, and said “You look like a drunken sailor.”

Thanks, Mom.

Needless to say since I was hardly vertically challenged, except when staying upright. I never felt the need to really to learn how to wear high heels. I mean, I’m naturally a klutz anyway (since the door totally jumped out at me). I didn’t really need to encourage the need to face plant into walls or dirt. Plus, there is only an inch difference between Mack and I. If he slouches when we go out I look taller than him and instantly curse him and his need to make me feel like Godzilla (or Annzilla) all over again.

This past Halloween it all changed for some reason. Call it a rush of sugar or my brain disconnecting from the reality of my situation. For some reason I decided that it was essential for me to wear high heels with my She-Devil costume (or as I lovingly called it “a Catholic Boys Nightmare” since the party was thrown by my very Catholic friend). What better way to strike fear in the hearts of mortals by towering over them in my red dress and wig?

With my gigantism, naturally, it means I have big feet. My family likes to call them “[Mothers Maiden Name] Feet” since they’re long, narrow, and kind of go to a point like those weird medieval shoes you see and laugh at.

Okay, not exactly like this since they’re kind of freaky looking… [source]

I was also determined not to face plant into cement at any point during the night so required the heel to be more then a centimeter in support. After hitting Target with absolutely no luck Mack suggested we hit an adult store. Sorry to those readers who that offends but there is something you should know: adult stores have some cute shoes! Of course, they serve for the fetish or goth crowds but what better for a She-Devil?

Luckily we were able to find a cute pair of Mary Janes with FOUR INCH HEELS. I write this all in caps since remember how tall I am? As I walked through the party (slowly, kind of doing this shuffle thing) I stopped in the kitchen and was depressed to find my eye level was above their fridge (it was dust free. Kudos to the cleaning Christine!).

Leaning back against the wall…

“oh shit! I’m falling! I regret nothing…!”

While I had fun with the heels I guess, since I’m tall and don’t know these things: how do you survive wearing heels for an extended period of time? I mean, seriously, I had a whole new respect for my gender (and drag queens who are better at fashion, make-up, and everything than me) that night since I ended up having to sit down a lot. (plus I wasn’t towering over people as much while in a sitting position). While I enjoyed the experience of the heels and knowing my legs went on forever (and ever) seriously girls (and guys who likes heels): HOW!?

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