Shot of Tonic

I know how he feels...

On SoulPancake, there was a challenge to complain about yourself in 250 words, or less, as a precursor to going a whole day without complaining. Here is my complaint.

I hate the fact that I am short. 5’ even to be exact, with no quarter of an inch to garnish it and make myself feel a little better- Nope. I am just short.

To top it off, I have a slight figure, girlish voice, and a young face. I am in my early twenties but am mistaken for a high school student all the time. Someone once told me that he thought I was 12. True story.

I hate that others don’t take me seriously because of their perceptions about my age; I hate that people feel the need to mention my height constantly; I hate that they try to brush of their rudeness with their pseudo-compliments: “Imagine when your 35, you’re going to look like you’re in your 20s.”

Why would I imagine myself to be older than I am? Why would I be worrying about what I look like in the future when I am dealing with jerks like you in the present. Jerks who think that because they look grown they can treat people any which way?

I hate, no I LOATHE, when people use the term “cute” to describe me. Or when they call me hun, sweetie, sugar, and whatever diabetes laden syrupy adjective you can think of.

I am not you sweetie! I am not your honey! I am not your anything! What I am is a grown-ass woman who would like to receive the respect ascribed to me by my age! Dammit I am an adult-just a pint size one.

Okay rant over. As you can see, I have issues. Lol! The floor is now yours, what about yourself would you complain about?

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