Hugging Short

Tall people - I could just hug you. But if I do, it's not going to be pretty. Since I'm short, one of two things happens when I hug tall folks: Either my face gets smashed into their chest and I leave vestiges of whatever blush and lipstick and foundation I'm wearing - OR - I manage to clear their torso and claw my way up so that my face is over their shoulder, looking much like a beginner swimmer who flounders to the side of the pool and grabs onto the cement edge, sputtering and gasping for air. A lot of time people mistake my embraces for enthusiasm when really I'm just giddy I made it to the top of the hill, so to speak, with makeup and hairdo intact.

There was one time when I actually WAS the TALL person hugging a shorter person. I stayed in the moment of affection a little longer than necessary because I wanted to luxuriate in the pose. A little later when I saw the person circulating amongst the guests, I noticed he had white deodorant streaks all over both shoulders of his suit. Well, I guess we know who THOSE came from!

I can't remember what they were serving at the function we were at, but I'm pretty sure somewhere in the whole spread there was a cake. And speaking of cake . . .

This is usually where I present a template of cake facts, but the response has been so underwhelming lately, that I'm just going to resort to sarcasm instead and say let's don't everybody rush to the e-mail address of btall50@aol.com and order a cake. No. God forbid you should order a cake for a friend, or a spouse, or a boss, or a . . . Just kidding. Hugs, if you know what I mean.