Monday, 10 October 2016

How Tall Are You?

Amsterdam Heels.

I have been 5'5" ever since I was about 12, so for a while there I was one of the tallest in the class photos, standing at the back and then as time went by and kids caught up, I ended up sitting next to the teacher on the front stool bench thing, sometimes balancing that awful blackboard between my toes or sometimes in my lap. So I was tall, then I wasn't.

When I started teaching at the ripe old age of 21, yeh you guessed it, I was still 5'5" (165cm for the youngsters) and cos I was a newbie and a little nervous and cos a lot of those Yr 12 boys were bloody giants, I wore heels to school. Seriously I just don't know how I managed it, ouchie ouchie ouchie.

My confidence in the classroom grew and the height of my heels dwindled, until now as a result of dementia or old age perhaps, I just can't recall the last time I might have worn heels to work. I am comfortable with my 5'5" and I long ago realised that kids don't give a shit how tall you are, they only care how honest you are and how fair and how clearly defined your rules are and how well you enforce them.

So when I was in Amsterdam one weekend away, as happened perhaps more often than you'd think it should while teaching in London, I stumbled across these hand painted heels and just had to have 'em. Yeh they were a folly and they have followed me all around, cos they are MY HEELS, the only heels I own, not that they are ever worn, it's just nice to think that I have a pair for you know, if the Queen comes for a spot of arvo tea, or if I have to appear in court on cheeky cow charges and I need to look respectable. The extra height just can't hurt can it?

My lovely Nanna used to say she was 5'5" and I would play along as I wrapped her up in a bear cuddle, a full head and shoulders above her. People do shrink I suppose cos she must have been that height at some point and just stopped measuring herself. And this week I reckon I have seen how that happens.

You know in the ADDAMS' FAMILY there is Uncle Fester, of the light bulb in the mouth fame, well I always thought him a strange shape, what with his ears folding straight down onto his shoulders and all. The electricity mouth didn't worry me so much as where his neck had gone.

And then I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror - something I do try rather hard to avoid, and there it was, or rather there it wasn't...where the hell was my neck?

My ears were planted firmly atop of my shoulders and I looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

Time for a massage then.

I go to Sylvia Lin a remedial massage therapist at Ferry Road Physio, and she is bloody marvelous, Baby Bear 'just right' pressure and as I lay on the bed with my head wedged firmly into that paper lined hole she did her stuff and I could actually feel myself getting taller and taller and taller. Every part of my spine must have been collapsing onto itself and then I wondered if that's how my Nanna lost so many inches - no Sylvia for her.

So now I wondering how often I should book an appointment so to avoid being a shrinking violet like my Nanna. Maybe once a month is called for? It sure is a bloody wonderful way to spend an hour. I came home and had to have a little lie down, after all I just had a growth spurt of about about 2 inches.

Yeh that means I can bury those heels again. Yippee!

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