Oh to be petite, delicate and fine boned like the wings of a sparrow. I could fit in anywhere unnoticed. Genteel southern ladies are known for their Lilliputian frames and dainty ways.

They exhibit the manner of fine bone china, not cast iron skillets.

I would love to have a fainting couch in my den. Not so much for fainting but for lounging as if I’m expecting tea and biscuits served on slight silver platters. I could languish there while reading or with a cold cloth upon my forehead as if I were faint. Someone would be at my ready to accomplish any task before him or her eagerly.

Oh, if only I were petite.

Alas, when I was just nine years old and in the fourth grade I was already head and shoulders above even the tallest of boys. My hair was akin to a bird’s nest (and not a nice nest) and I was, despite my stature, mousy in appearance. I slumped my shoulders and dragged my feet as though they were beset with chains and anchors.

I longed to possess the “mannerisms of a lady,” quiet, soft-spoken, and non-intrusive. But I was just a galoot, all legs and arms, feet and mouth.

But I’ve been tall for a half century now and I have put it to good use I suppose. Sweet old ladies in the grocery store always call on me to grab items from higher shelves, shelves out of reach of their diminutive arms. I rarely need a stepladder to accomplish a task above my head. I have never had to sit on a pillow to make my way through a plate of supper.

My presence can be startling I suppose because people are always reminding me that I am tall, like I wasn’t aware of that little fact.

Oh, if I were petite I would have become someone’s dream, a muse perhaps. A gentlewoman with that fainting couch upon which I could laze away my days.

Maybe what I really want is not be to petite but just to own that darn couch.

So I guess I’ll continue on in the role I’ve become accustomed to and be happy. After all, I do have a couch. Albeit a couch potato couch, it is a couch. I’ll serve myself (without the benefit of minions) Diet Dr. Pepper and saltines for high tea and lounge upon my couch while I watch Young & the Restless each afternoon. For that moment I will become petite and soft-spoken, delicate and fine.

And after that hour of fantasy I will return to the tasks at hand and complete them in record time. I will not be petite but still useful in my own gargantuous way.

If only I could stand on my head for a while I know everything would just simply fall into place.

You get the picture?

(Contact award-winning columnist Sherry Hopkins at swhcsc@wildblue.net.)