I always wanted to be tall. Wish un-granted. I’m barely 5’1. Normally a nice pair of high heels compensate for any insecurity in that department. At work my motto is, “The bigger the problem, the higher the heel,” words that have served me well, though they’ve been the source incessant teasing. More than once I’ve noticed a co-worker glancing quickly at my shoes before my face when saying, “Good Morning,” gauging the size of my current design dilemma by the height of my footwear. Rarely do I wear flats. No, at best flats are for weekends, boots for hiking, Nikes for running and Merrells for all terrain fun.
Which leads me to Flamingos. I love Flamingos. Corally pink, gracefully tall and beautiful even when sleeping, I was ecstatic to find myself walking into their habitat with a carton of shrimp, ready to offer a few native rescues an afternoon snack. Little did I realize however, that a large, adult flamingo is almost as tall as me until suddenly I was flocked, caught up in a Flamingo feeding frenzy, face to face, eye to eye, shrouded in pink and smothered by the wooden sound of clapping, hungry beaks. So I did what any sensible person would, I dropped the carton and ran for the gate … happy for the first and only time that I solved a five foot problem in a half inch heel. :))))