In the seedy underworld of name brand shopping, sometimes I feel there is a conspiracy brewing against those of us who are short.

For instance, those long shorts advertised at Old Navy are my capris, the average capris are my pants and the “short” jeans — are a lie. At my height of 5 feet 1 inch, even those so-called “short” pants for the 5-foot-5-inch crowd are a death trap waiting to trip you without a good hem.

As a “vertically challenged” individual, many times I feel the need to bring a stepstool, NAY, a 20-foot cherry picker, with me wherever my shopping needs take me.

I remember a time when I stopped by Wal-Mart with a roommate of mine and we wanted a tempting cookie tin on the top shelf. We were faced with a dilemma — we were too short to get it. So, with a lack of employee help, we improvised. I got on all fours and she teetered on my back, carefully reaching for our precious cookie tin, as she toppled the other tins on top of my head and sent them clattering all over the isle.

Stunts like these have trained me to be a master of improv, to use what I’ve got, to make up for what I don’t, to get what I want.

I’m also trained as a nimble climber, able to compete alongside the best of the circus acrobats in the death-defying stunts of climbing shelves and displays to reach what I need.

Climbing up saves time for my friends, who lose me constantly in stores. It’s much easier for me to climb up and find them than for me to jump up and down so they can see my bobbing head over displays or clothing racks.

I also often notice that my friends make the outfits I like look stunning, while I always end up looking like a squashed version. A fun house mirror effect, if you will. The sleeves are hanging off my hands by the foot and there are folds of material piled around my feet, and if I’m in a skirt, forget it! I have to hike my skirt up past my waist grandma style just to get an appropriate fit.

Something this ridiculous just has to be a conspiracy and in the world of short shopping, where developing and adapting skills is a must, I believe I have successfully mastered the art; I just have to remember to bring my step-stool.

Sharp

drowning in high waters

“Did you know your pants are too short?” The snobby, popular girl obviously did not appreciate the challenge of finding pants as one of the tallest girls in the sixth grade.

While all my short girlfriends were still shopping in the little kid section, I had to move up to the women’s sizes in order to find pants long enough for me.

I know what high waters are. In fact, I’ve struggled with that fashion curse for quite a while. I may have only grown four more inches since sixth grade, but that was enough to make it hard to find pants that go down past the high water limit.

In order to get pants long enough I sometimes have to buy bigger sizes. A belt is required at all times, but hey, my pants are long enough! It’s just too bad they’re now so baggy that two of me could fit in them.

Stores think if they make a size long, they can solve this problem. I don’t think so. At least not for people who aren’t that tall. When I wear long jeans I feel like the short people who have to roll up their pants so they don’t drag on the ground.

Another challenge for the taller shoppers is finding sleeves long enough. I guess there’s a high water effect for sleeve length too. I’m sick of trying on a really cute coat to only find the sleeves are too short to be full length and too long to be three-quarters length.

I’ve given up trying to find the perfect length. I have just accepted the fact that I need to unpick seams and let out material to make the sleeves long enough.

And it really gets pathetic when you have to find other options to solve the clothing problem.

Options like rolling up sleeves, which happens to be a trend from last decade. Or I could add material onto the bottom of my clothes, but I think the hippies from the 70s did that.

In a desperate hope, I hold onto clothes that aren’t long enough. I still have a pair of pants that I roll up to make them look like capris instead of high waters.

Every time I see them I tell myself that I’m going to cut them off and sew them to make them real capris. Have I done it yet? Nope. And they’re going on four years old now.

Such is the shopping life of a taller person. You add material and you save the outgrown. Thus, the battle against high waters goes on.