Today started out like any other. I tried unsuccessfully to figure out a problem with the PC upstairs. Technology kicked my ass and I revved up my browser to search for distractions. Today was my lucky day. I found my way to a shopping magazine which linked to My Virtual Model. My virtual counterpart fearlessly tried swimwear: daring one pieces and teeny bikinis without batting a cyber-lash. She’s was *so* much braver than the flesh and blood version. She didn’t even ask if there was a matching cover up tunic or skirt. Maybe they’ll build saddle bags, self consciousness and unrealistic body expectations into the program once they’ve worked out the other kinks in the beta stage.
The same company also developed Virtual Hairstylist for ivillage. This thing totally rocked my world. I uploaded a picture and WENT TO TOWN. I now know I would look:
1. Terrible with Julia Roberts long, auburn mane
2. Like Entertainment Tonight’s Stephen Cojocaru with Rachel Leigh Cook’s edgy flip out do
3. Smokin’ H-O-T with Tiffany Thiessen’s long layered razor cut
FYI- I also checked up on the whole “blondes have more fun” thing. It ain’t true. But I digress, that isn’t the notable part of the day. That was my yearly physical with my new doctor… which I was (oops) 15 minutes late for because I got so caught up playing internet beauty shop.
Everything was pretty standard. The clerk huffed and puffed about me being late and nurse gave me the evil eye as I sat smiling in the waiting room trying to figure out if I would look as cute as the computer generated picture of me with Meg Ryan’s short curly bob (circa “City of Angels”). I decided I’d probably look more like Raggedy Ann with hair that short.
My name was called and the nurse led me back to the hall to get my specs. Took off the jacket and shoes before stepping on the scale. Weight is where I usually see fluctuation. No surprises there. I patted myself of the back, then straightened the same back against the wall to have my height measured.
You need to understand how strange this next part is, so I’m gonna interject a little background. When I was measured all through college, I was consistently 5′ 4 1/2″. Not wanting to brag, I stuck with 5′ 4″. So, if I filled out a form that asked about my vertical stature I would answer accordingly. Of course, if the occassion came up where I needed to fluff out my feathers in a defensive stance and assert physical prowess I would simply state, “Well, technically I’m 5′ 4.5″. Bite me.”
I’ve seen my waist and bust lines expand and contract but it’s important to note that height wise, women stop growing between the ages of 18 and 20. I moved back to Boston from New York during the spring of 2003 and had a physical with my new doctor. Here’s the weird part: I was told I was actually 5′ 5″ on the dot. I had them check and double check. Strange. I wondered where it came from but a 1/2″ can be chalked up to past measurements being taken incorrectly. I figured it was a mistake somewhere along the line but someone had just given me an inch. I made certain to take a mile since it’d eventually likely be swiped back by osteoporosis. I made a big deal out of it, told all my friends and even changed my online profiles to 5′ 5″.
Fast forward now to the hallway in the HMO earlier this afternoon… The nurse announced my height as 5′ 6″. Of course, there was a recount and I paid particular attention to posture this time. Crazy part? the second reading came back as 5′ 5.75″. The doctor shrugged it off and said I probably hadn’t grown. We moved on to talking about the Patch and how going back on it will require blood pressure check ups. It was strange going through the rest of the appointment answering family medical history questions. My mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t get past the fact that I am quite possibly an anomaly in physical development: a walking “up yours” to conventional medical wisdom.
Of course, the first thing I did was rush to my parents’ house. I made my Mom re-measure me the old fashion way: with a pencil mark on the wall, a level and a tape measure. The jury is in: I have grown three quarters of an inch since 2003. Um… hello… I’m turning 30 in August. That’s a minumum of 10 years after the moratorium on height. So, not that I’m complaining but… WHAT’S WITH THE GROWING?
My best friend tells me I probably have the disease of Lincoln. Apparently he was like 7′ tall and still growing that fateful evening in the theater balcony. Googled helped me rule that out and I buried myself in the pages of diagnostic websites to no avail. All that medical jargon just drained me of any energy I had to figure out if I do indeed have a condition.
So, I’ve moved on to the next step: acceptance. This could be a boon for my future. I have a plan of action. Math and excel spreadsheets have never been my forte, but I’m going to find someone who is gifted in that area and have them calculate my future growth rate. Once I have that info, I’ll set a timeline for joining the WNBA or launching a career as a supermodel. That or I’ll be a shoe in for a job in an independent book store that can’t afford to have the standard step stool per employee.
Yep. That’s the ticket.
Tags: Boston, City of Angels, energy, internet beauty shop, Julia Roberts, Lincoln, Meg Ryan, New York, nurse, online profiles, osteoporosis, Rachel Leigh Cook, Stephen Cojocaru, Tiffany Thiessen, WENT TO TOWN
