In light of my recent rap video raising Shorty Awareness,  Nuthin But A Wee Thang, I have compiled a more detailed list of things to both unite fellow shorties, and educate those who are less vertically challenged as to what life is like…down here.



This is an everyday battle. Every time I go grocery shopping I am faced with an item that is undoubtedly way out of my reach. This is the general order of events: 1) Look around. Not to ask for help, but to make sure no one is there to witness what’s about to go down. 2) Climb onto the bottom shelf, depending how sturdy it is, then grasp the shelf like I am climbing Kilimanjaro, except it’s just aisle 4 in Fairway. 3) Extend my arm as far as I can possibly reach until I can either grasp my tiny fingers around the item, or at least get close enough to slowly nudge it to the edge, where gravity will eventually take over.

I know this seems like a lot of trouble for a container of Parmesan cheese. You’re probably thinking, “Why don’t you just ask for help?” It’s kind of like how men refuse to ask for directions. It’s not about the Parmesan cheese. It’s about my pride. And that is God damn delicious.



Answer me this: If I am the SIZE of a child, why aren’t I entitled to that discount? Why should I pay full price just so I can get a crink in my neck after some tall asshole sits in front of me? Seriously Fandango, I deserve one free ticket every time I go to the chiropractor. Either that or give me a booster seat with my popcorn.


You see fun. I see a full blown panic attack.
You see fun. I see a full blown panic attack.

I have been to many concerts in my day. I have seen very few of them. If I want to listen to music in a sea of hipsters, I will just take the L train.



You know that scene in “The Lion King” where Simba sees the stampede of wildebeests and he’s just like “FUCK…”. Yeah, that’s me pretty much every time I take the subway at rush hour.


Wait for it...
There’s a third. Wait for it…

I feel like I’m constantly walking really really fast, yet still somehow manage to be slow as shit. The frustrating part, no one seems to take my proportional disadvantage into consideration. They’re just leisurely strolling, meanwhile I’m booking it over here. Think about it. One of my steps is half the length of a normal person, so essentially I have to walk twice as fast just to keep up. It’s exhausting. Also, if there is a zombie apocalypse, I would totally be the first to go.


How long have you been standing here?
How long have you been standing here?

A good 30 seconds. At this point, I’m pretty much a certified ninja. Either you have no idea where I went or you’re confused as to how I got there. Needless to say, approaching people at parties or social gatherings can be tricky. The reason being, I don’t exist in the average person’s peripheral vision. If you could adjust your depth perception, you could see me approaching and mentally prepare for our salutation. But because you don’t even see me coming, I’m basically left with no other option but to pull a sneak attack. Sometimes I stand there and wait for a lull in conversation, cause, ya know, I don’t want to startle AND interrupt.


Is there any other kind?
Is there any other kind?

When you’re 4’11 there are really only two options when it comes to hugging, both are awkward in their own way. When I go under, I am forced to nuzzle my head somewhere in that person’s torso. I usually end up doing an awkward side hug just so I don’t head but their belly button or if it’s a female, motorboat without any warning. When I make the mistake of going over someone’s shoulders, I usually wind up in some sort of reverse Heimlich maneuver. If I’m hugging a guy, I’d say a good 40-50% of my hugs end with a “Can I pick you up?” Perhaps we can just make things simpler and go for the high five. But not too high, cause, ya know.


“I hope you have ID on you. Cause you look 13.”-A bouncer to me on my 26th birthday. Hey, it happens. I won’t complain about getting carded. I WILL complain about the fact that it is extremely difficult to get served when you can barely reach the bar. Even at that point, getting the bartender’s attention without getting shoved out of the way is its own battle. This is pretty much how I feel every time I try to get served in a crowded bar.

If I could just...excuse me...I would just like a beverage.
If I could just…excuse me…I would just like a beverage.

One of these days shorty is gonna SNAP. “But you’re a chick. Just get some random dude to get you a drink.” Do I have to repeat the whole parmesan cheese thing again? This is about pride.



This one isn’t so much a problem in that it limits me in any way, it’s just really hard to act like a BOSS when you know your feet can’t touch the floor.



For my feet to touch the pedals I pretty much need to sit ON the dashboard. I’m pretty much the best person to go on a road trip with though, cause if you sit behind me, you’ve got leg room for DAYYYYSSS.



I have lost track of how many times someone has said to me “We could just throw you in a carry on!”, “Your suitcase is twice your size!”, or “Wow, that’s a lot of luggage for such a small person!” While I do tend to over-pack (understatement),why do people think  I should walk around with a tiny little suitcase like I’m going on a family vacation to Disney world?


So you know when you go shopping and you find this AWESOME pair of jeans that fits you PERFECTLY?? Cool, cause that has literally never happened to me. When you’re 4’11, trying to find a pair of pants that don’t need to be altered is like trying to find a deeper, existential meaning in an episode of “Keeping Up With The Kardashians”. Not gonna happen.

Ok she clearly stole that from Gandhi.
Brain Explosion.


Best part about this is the guy playing the tuba in the background.
Best part about this is the guy playing the tuba in the background.

Fortunately, I haven’t had too many physical altercations in my day. But I do know that if and when the time comes, my options are pretty limited to a judo chop to the nuts, a kick in the shins, or a nurple.


Shorty's got great lesbo.
Shorty’s got great tits…no lesbo.

When I have dated guys who are 6ft or over, it is a struggle for all parties. First, it just looks unnatural. When we walk together on the street we look more like we’re on our way to “Take Your Daughter To Work Day” than two adults on a date. Kissing is a logistical nightmare. Usually both of us have to strain in an attempt to meet halfway. He widens his stance, sort of like Warrior position for any yogi’s out there. Meanwhile I’m standing on my tippy toes like I’m in the fucking Nutcracker. Even cuddling can get awkward. Kind of hard to lie there and enjoy the moment when I feel like a god damn koala latching onto a tree.


Yes, all of these things have been said to me.

I just wanna throw you around.” Get a frisbee

“You wouldn’t even have to get on your knees.”– For that blow job that you will never get from me? Or for that judo chop to the nuts I mentioned earlier?

“I bet your hands would make my d-“- Please don’t even finish that sentence. You know what else my tiny child sized hands make your dick look like? A pedofile. Hope that doesn’t ruin your GIGANTIC boner.

Pretty much sums up how I feel about that...
Pretty much sums up how I feel about that…



I gotta hand it to her, nothing encapsulates my existence quite like this song. Yes, conceptually I am a grown-ass woman. But I don’t really feel like one. If you were trying to point me out to someone, you wouldn’t be like “Yeah, that LADY over there.” I’ve only been called mam twice, and both times it has been a customer service representative on the phone who clearly had no idea what I look like.

The moral of the story: Just because we look small doesn’t mean we have to act it. And if you ever need an extra confidence boost, say this to yourself in the mirror (regardless of your height)

I is smart, I is TALL, I is important.
I is smart, I is TALL, I is important.



I am a comedian, writer, actress, & also rapper living in NYC. I'm 4'11 so naturally my rap name is T-Spoon. Dating confuses me, so I like to write about it. The way to my heart is probably through fart jokes and puppies. (Here's the part where I encourage you to follow me on twitter @halleratyou)

1 Comment

  1. Another grown woman who’s 4’11”? IT’S A MIRACLE! I feel your pain.

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