Either I am too tall, or the lights in Pensacola are oddly placed, because whenever I roll up to a stoplight (and yes, I do stop at the white line), I have to crane my neck down to peer up so that I can see when the light changes to green. It's annoying.
Also, I worked nursery on Sunday and was approached by a four-year-old, who informed me that she wasn't sure if her daddy (who was very tall, indeed, she said) was taller than me, because, you see, my skirt was so long that I must be very tall. Even taller than her father, perchance.
Maybe it's me. Maybe it's the stoplights and empire-waisted, floor-length dresses. Maybe I like it that way.
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