I couldn’t reach the six-pack of Evian water. I was at Target, and the lonely six-pack was on the far side of the top shelf of the water section. Looking around, seeing no one, I surreptitiously stood on the bottom shelf.
I’d been reprimanded for doing this very thing a few weeks earlier, in the dog food aisle. But I wanted my water. It’s mineral water from the French Alps! Is it my fault my arms are short.
Though desperate, I did imagine the whole row of shelves coming down on top of me. That would not be a good thing.
A voice behind me asked, “Can I help you?” I turned to see a tall young man, a Target associate.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Could you get that water down for me?” He did.
After thanking him, I meandered down the aisles. It was a Saturday, and I wanted to get a sweet treat for my husband, Paul. Klondike Bars are always a sure hit with him. Oh, my, they had Klondikes infused with Reese’s peanut butter cups. Needless to say, the way my day was going, they were way in the back of the freezer case.
Once again, I looked around. A thirty-something man was passing by with his wife and two children. “Sir,” I said, “Could you possibly get those Klondike Bars for me?”
“Sure.” He had no trouble reaching them. And of course he didn’t mind because having long arms is a cool thing.
On Facebook, I wondered if the shelves were getting higher or if I was shrinking.
It’s a known fact that we do get shorter as we age. According to the wellness website of the University of California, Berkeley, “People lose height because the discs between the vertebrae in the spine dehydrate and compress.”
In my prime, I was proud to be five-foot-four and three-quarters. This, to my mind, was neither too short nor too tall. One of my college roommates and I were the same height. But when we stood together and looked in the mirror, her legs were longer than mine. My torso was longer than hers. Hmm. I felt I’d gotten the wrong end of the deal.
Still, I liked feeling average. I didn’t want to stand out. My height was average, my weight was average—all good. For my high school commencement ceremony, we were arranged by height. I was right in the middle.
Now I have shrunk at least an inch, maybe an inch and a half. There are two problems with this. Because of my short legs, I need to go with petite sizes when I buy pants or jeans. Now, the petite is really not petite enough.
The other problem is reaching those high shelves.
I don’t seem to have this problem when I shop for groceries at my local Hannaford. I have other problems there, as regular readers of this column know. As an example, I turned into the pasta and rice aisle the other day just in time to see a young woman shove her cart forward and then remove her hands from the handle. This would have been bad enough on the face of it, but she had a toddler sitting in the baby seat. Her cart was headed directly for my cart. I stopped short, and the (I’m guessing) father of the child grabbed the runaway carriage, taking control of the situation.
For some reason, the shelves are higher at Target. But if social media is good for anything, it can make you feel like you’re not alone. I received quite a few replies to my lament.
Many women believe the shelves are too high. Some insist that their tall husbands accompany them on shopping trips. I was relieved to see that other women are not embarrassed to ask strangers to get an item down for them.
A tall cousin wrote, “Yes, I’m called on for long-arm duty at Stop & Shop all the time.”
From a friend: “My husband at 6’5” is asked at least once on every shopping trip to assist with a shelf reach.”
I had no idea this was a “thing.”
Paul is six feet tall, but he doesn’t like shopping. When we go to Target, he gets what he needs to get, then retires to Starbucks with a book. This may have to change.
At any rate, I’m just glad to know that I’m not the only one with “short girl problems.” That it’s perfectly OK to ask random tall guys to fetch items for me.
After all, when men want to know if there’s any difference between garlic salt and garlic powder, or where the gravy mixes are—I am happy to help.
I may have shrunk, but I still know the answers to questions that confound men in the grocery store.
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