Sometimes it is commonalties that make for fun or
interesting reading and sometimes it is differences.
This morning, as I was readying myself for the day,
I was contemplating deeply (does one ever contemplate
not deeply?) one difference that I have from almost
everyone I know.

That difference is my shoe size.

I have to say "almost everyone I know" because my
sister, Becky, shares the same, or almost the same,
shoe size with me. I wear a size 2 shoe. That is a
size 2 in children's sizes.

I have always loved being part of a short family, and
I have felt it was a blessing to be among the shortest
of that family. I have one cousin who is actually only
4'8", which is an inch shorter than I am. Becky used to
be my height, but after having several children she seems
to have gained an inch on me. 'Though I suspect she only
has been measured in the morning. Uncle Jim, that fount
of much useful trivia, tells me we are always taller in
the morning before gravity has been working on us all day.
(He also told me that the amount of sunlight in a day,
when plotted on a graph makes a sine wave, with the tops
and bottoms of the waves being when we hit the winter
and summer equinoxes. I am a daylight and equinox freak
and I find that tidbit especially fascinating.)

How quickly this wanders off track. Back to the differences
in people's lives. I bet there are not many of my gentle
readers who have to throw away pantyhose because the velcro
on their size 2 left shoe tears it up when they cross their
size 2 right shoe over their ankle as their little feet are
dangling down from the pew and hanging several inches above
the floor. It is possible that those little legs get tired
of dangling and so, to keep from going numb, they are tucked
under one as she patiently listens to the wisdom from the
pulpit, then when she shifts positions, the velcro, which is
now actually stuck to the pew itself, makes a huge uncrunching
noise as it slowly separates.

This does not even compare, though, to the joys of shopping for
size 2 shoes. My choices in dress shoes are shiny black or white
patent leather with little silver flowers attached. I can go
with Cinderella or Bratz designs if I like. My tennis shoes
have the option of lighting up every time I take a step. (That
is not very helpful when you are playing Sardines though.)

The bright side to all this is that Kent married me for my shoe
size. He has always been very monetarily conservative and reminds
me from time to time that he always wanted a wife who could buy
cheap shoes.

I am proud to fill the bill, even if I don't quite fill the shoe.