“Why fit in when you were born to stand out?” ~ Dr. Seuss
“In all the years I’ve been a therapist, I’ve yet to meet one girl who likes her body.” ~ Mary Pipher
“How much time have I wasted on diets and what I look like? Take your time and your talent and figure out what you have to contribute to this world. And get over what the hell your butt looks like in those jeans! ~ America Ferreira
“My limbs work, so I’m not going to complain about the way my body is shaped.” ~ Drew Barrymore
Like a mighty Sequoia, I fell . . . and fell . . . and fell. I was on a sidewalk in the middle of downtown Cincinnati. I don’t believe I heard anyone yell, “Timber”; nor did I see anyone rush to help save me from the fall. One man pulled up in his van and said, “I saw you go down. I didn’t know if you were hurt or just drunk.”
Now, I’ve witnessed Lilliputian females trip, and the episode plays out differently. My 5’2” friend, Barb, recently tripped over a piece of furniture, but when she began to fall, her trunk didn’t lurch forward and her arms didn’t flap (and I’m pretty sure she didn’t wet her panties, as I did); instead, her compact little body suffered something akin to a series of hiccups. And before she hit the ground, a chivalrous young man cupped her elbow, and she ever-so-elegantly regained her equilibrium.
I love how this lady just owns it!
I’ve always felt big. I felt large when I wore ballet slippers in my wedding so I wouldn’t be taller than the groom. I feel enormous when everyone looks up to greet me when I board an elevator. I feel immense when the photographer tells me to stand in the back row. I feel gigantic when I go to the Petite Department to buy my sister-in-law’s Barbie-size clothes. I feel whopping when my shoulders extend past the width of a plane seat.
But I feel positively colossal when I fall. I have fallen on 5 ½ continents—I was actually on a ship off the Antarctica coast when I took the plunge (fortunately onboard, not off), so I’m only claiming a half continent for this calamity.
My husband has been there for nearly every tumble. He rarely tries to impede a fall, which tends to proceed as if a force of nature, but he’s there to recover my groceries, mop up my blood, and pull my skirt down from over my head, Once he’s sure I’m okay, he says, patiently annoyed, “Just pick up your feet.”
Well, then, let’s talk about my feet. My feet are size 12, mere inches shorter than the shoe box, so “picking up my feet” is more than the usual challenge. When girls shop together, they often end up in a shoe store. I feign interest, even though I know there will be nothing I can try on unless I cross-dress.
It’s always a male salesman who is inspired to run to the man side of the shoe store and bring a guy’s gym shoe to the fitting stool. I admit that I have purchased men’s shoes, but I’ll make this concession only if I can find the identical shoe—down to the shoelaces—on the girls’ side of the store.
You know what they say about men and their feet? They say that’s a myth, but crossing the chromosomal divide, I’ve had two gynecologists note that I have an unusually long vagina. Is it too much for an Amazon to imagine that at least her lady parts would have dainty proportions?
My hands are like mitts. If I were the least bit athletic, they’d be good for palming a basketball, catching a football, pulling through water, or groping groupies. But they’re rarely useful, just curious, like circus-curious. I have never met a woman with hands as big as mine, and few men.
When my now-husband offered me his class ring when I was in high school, I couldn’t wrap angora around it or melt candle wax on it to 
achieve a snug fit. It was, in fact, too small for me to wear, so I turned it down. I have no choice but to shop in the men’s department for gloves. “One size fits all” is a lie that Isotoner tells. My mitts are attached to wrists that are too large for watches, bangle bracelets, and shirt sleeves.
Then there is my prodigious bosom. There was no training bra that could prepare me for a lifetime of carrying these things around. When a bra is as big as mine, it is only fitting to call it a “brassiere.” First graders can’t count as high as the number on my bra label. There’s no pretty lace, just sturdy fabric, uncompromising straps, and as much metal as in a small toaster oven. My brassiere is a courageous adversary of the laws of gravity. “Boobs and balls” is an apt description of my physique and bearing.
I have felt too fat at every weight for a half century. Even when I wasn’t fat. I look back at pictures and see that I when I was a teenager, I was a healthy, fit weight for my frame. How sad that I felt fat at the prom, as Kate in Taming of the Shrew, at the altar in my wedding dress.
It wasn’t easy growing up with Janet Reno’s hands in Julia Child’s body. My grandmother said it would be great to be so tall that I could 
Photo credit: Paul Child, courtesy of Alfred A. Knopf
reach the hat boxes on the top shelf. My mother reassured me that I would eventually be grateful for my size. That didn’t happen when I couldn’t buy a cool madras dress in the Junior Department. It didn’t happen at the prom, where the basketball players paired up with the short cheerleaders. And it didn’t happen on graduation day when I was the last girl in line because I was tallest.
But I have to hand it to my mom; she was right: When I’m not dwelling on my clumsiness, bulk, brawn, height, or mannishness, I appreciate my big body. In fact, I’m finally, finally, pretty comfortable in my skin. Sixty-two years it took for this to happen. What a damn waste of time. Time I could have spent contemplating something important.
My body was the perfect size for intimidating middle schoolers. It was ideal for carrying boxes of library books. It was just the thing for confronting bullying male administrators. And, Grandma, although I have yet to reach for a hat box, it is occasionally handy to get something down from a top shelf. (I like to hand the Kellog’s Bran Flakes to short old ladies at Krogers.)
My body may not be feminine or sleek or coy or demure, but my husband likes it just fine. it is sturdy. It has withstood countless falls, recovering quickly from the occasional injury. It took me to work nearly every day for thirty years, tolerating the 5:00 AM alarm. It will never need to take the Activia challenge. It will not swoon or collapse, or succumb to food poisoning. It has carried me up high mountains with my husband, high slides with my kids, and high achievements on my job.
It’s a body designed for birthin’ and nursin’ babies. It rarely gets sick, and it has a little buffer on the backside if it does. It’s hearty and stalwart and forgiving and dependable. It’s your grandpa’s big old Oldsmobile, and it gets me where I’m going.
“I hope the gentle reader will excuse me for dwelling on these and the like particulars, which, however insignificant they may appear to groveling vulgar minds, yet will certainly help a philosopher to enlarge his thoughts and imagination, and apply them to the benefit of public as well as private life . . .” from Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift
Copyright © 2015 Sandy Lingo, All Rights Reserved.
Once again Sandy, you nailed it!!!! Oh, how I love your posts.
Thanks so much, Nance!
This is so much fun to read! I can imagine how difficult it was — I remember being so envious of my petite, frail friends.
I loved “Janet Reno’s hands in Julia Child’s body,” the entire paragraphs about your hands and feet are hysterical!
But, I mostly loved the end, how you came to see how your size became an advantage, like when standing up to a bullying male administrators. I can just picture this!
Thank you so much, Ellen. As a writer yourself, I am sure you sometimes write to figure out what you think. I wrote the part about feeling big a year or so ago, but I knew something was missing. Then I came back and wrote the last paragraph. And right before posting, I wrote the line about realizing how much time I wasted fretting over the skin I’m in. Thanks for reading, reflecting on, and responding to my writing.
I can relate to being tall and large, though I was shorted in the boob department, which makes my middle look that much bigger in comparison, I have learned to stand up straight and proud, even when it puts my meager chest at eye level to those I talk to. If only it hadn’t taken 60+ years to reach that level of “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
Thank you for reading my blog, Kathy. I would be honored to look you in the eye! Maybe 60 is the magic number–there is something about turning 60 that makes you realize you have less time in front of you than behind you.
Yes, indeedy, you DID nail this! And you are right, no woman is happy with her body….I hated being short because I could never hide an extra 10 pounds …let alone what I can’t hide now.
Favorite lines:
Once he’s sure I’m okay, he says, patiently annoyed, “Just pick up your feet.” (Not only are we the same person, but I believe we married the same man!)
“One size fits all” is a lie that Isotoner tells. (Every item that uses that is lying!)
First graders can’t count as high as the number on my bra label. (HILARIOUS)
It has carried me up high mountains with my husband, high slides with my kids, and high achievements on my job. (And there you have it…the three most important things in the world!)
Thank you, dear fan. I love the readbacks, and I love you.
Really well done. Brava Lady. Funny, poignant, and stick it to ya!
Diane Germaine
Thanks so much, Diane, for reading, reflecting on, and responding to my blog.
I just love this, and I love that gorgeous bod that brought me into the world!
Thank you, sweetie. Sandra Dee
This is a “wow” of a piece…totally engaging truth-telling.
P.S. To the blog-readers who don’t know Sandy, she has a gargantuan heart! Ask anyone who knows her.
Your kind words mean so much to me. I love that you say that my writing is “truth-telling.” More important than the humor is the truth.
Sandy, I especially appreciate this blog around Mother’s Day! I loved all of your OVERSIZED words too. Just delightful. From another large woman who totally gets it!!!!!!
I love looking you in the eye! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Thanks for reading, responding to, and reflecting on my blog.
Happy Mother’s Day, Sandy! Alice said it best, but here are my thoughts. I never saw the woman you described. Instead, I saw a classy, well dressed, intelligent woman with a huge sense of humor. I saw a woman who could make middle school boys love to read and join a book club and make elementary students love math. I saw a woman who intimidated male administrators with her intelligence, her wit, and her determination. I would have never guessed your shoe size, but I do know the size of your heart. Please keep writing!
Mary Beth, I am so touched that you read my blog. Your kind comments touch me so much. I respect you so much and to have your friendship means the world to me. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. We need to get together with Lynn to celebrate Evan’s successful surgery.
I hope your Mother’s Day was grand! Just like you are. If “big” is the topic, we need to talk about your heart, brain, and ability to care for your friends. You are the warmest, funniest, smartest, most caring person I know. Who else would come to my house to make cookies for my church dinner! You are cruising the grocery store while I am trying to scale the shelves or find someone to help me get to what I need. And the size of your shoes only tells us that you sometimes carry the weight of the world and stand tall. It is such a privilege to be one of your little friends. And in my next life, I plan to be tall!
What an eloquent and loving comment. I am touched by your words. I love that our friendship is anchored in so many ways and that we’re getting to know each other better through Women Writing.
Sandy – You always pick the perfect pictures to accompany your writing. You left out that you have a big heart that is generous, loving and friendly. On the big side, my TMJ dentist said I had the biggest tongue he ever saw…with a gasp. It serves me well licking ice cream cones and giving someone the raspberries if I don’t agree. As to the falling, we have something in common. I’ve had some freaky falls. I look back when I was 20 lbs lighter remembering I felt I was too heavy then. It’s ridiculous. We should rejoice when we are Rubenesque in form. My husband likes curves in a woman.
PS I always wanted to be tall. People look up to you not because of your height but because of the wonderful person you are.
Love you, Cathy, as well as your big tongue! Your kind words make me blush! Thank you for reading, responding, and reflecting.
Please never stop writing!
I LOVED this!! When I read your blog, I imagine you reading it to me in class, so I hear your voice as I read. So many possible read-back lines!! Perfect!
Thanks so much, Jan. It pleases me that my voice is there in my written words. Thanks for reading and responding.
Ditto what Mary Beth wrote! You are a lovely, loving individual who values her family, friends and students. I LOVE that you are my friend!!! And I love that you love me just the way I am!!
Such nice words. I will agree with the part that says I value my friends. I DO! I value you and the history we share. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.
I agree with Mary Beth. Other than the fact that I can see eye to eye with you I consider you normal. You are big in intellect, wanting to give and help others, creative, technical knowledge, and talent. So, you fall. It is probably because your mind is on something else. The good news is that your bones appear strong, also. Have you noticed others shrinking? You are a force to be reckoned with. Write on!
Yes, Judy. It seems like everyone is shrinking but me! Rick is much shorter than I am now. According to my doctor, I’ve gotten an inch shorter. Your sweet compliments make me blush. How nice of you to put a positive spin on my falling–Rick just laughed! Thanks so much for reading, reflecting, and responding. I like looking you in the eye!
“Time I could have spent contemplating something important.”
This, to me, is the main point. Instead of obsessing about whatever we think our less-than-perfect characteristics are, we could be dwelling on matters of much more importance!
Having said the obvious, it’s true that (U.S.) women have been way too socialized to obsess over calories and weight. And you always find a funny spin on any subject. Kudos for being able to laugh at a sometimes sensitive subject, Sandy!
Phebe
I am so pleased you found the main point of this piece–that obsessing about the body you’re in is a waste of time, and obsession that tends to be gender-specific to women. It took me a while to figure out the main idea myself. First I wrote about my feelings about being large. After weeks of reflection, I had one of those aha moments. Thanks for reading, reflecting,and responding.
This is a brave piece with big meaning for women across the board!!!!
Love your work, Sandy
You have always had a way with words and a wonderful outlook on life! Thanks so much for sharing! Do you ever talk to groups of young ladies? The grand daughters sure seem to fret over their preteen bodies.