Let’s talk about the word “small”.
I am a small man. I am tiny. I have chicken arms and a non-existent waist. These facts do not bother me.
What bothers me is being called small.
Small means little. Not big. Inadequate. Small is a slur. No one ever says, “Oh, look at how big that guy is!” That doesn’t ever mean they don’t mock him, whether for some disproportion of his immensity or another quality. It means that being big isn’t necessarily being bad. You’re allowed to be big–hell, there’s even stores out there that cater to your specific frame. You can do things that normal guys can’t do, like drive giant SUVs without being accused of overcompensation, and wear funny hats. You might face mockery and derision every once in awhile, but being big is still kind of like being normal. At least stores sell clothing in your size.
Do you know what people say to small guys? “You’re so little.” They don’t always mean to be mean, but it happens. You get a Napoleon complex and find yourself standing on boxes for no apparent reason. You worry if you’re going to go naked next winter because it’s always so hard to find pants that fit you. Small children beat you up. When you go over to a friend’s house and mess up your clothes, you have to borrow his kid sister’s because his won’t fit you. People pick you up and play catch with you. I know people do this because it’s happened to me multiple times, and at five-seven I’m not even that small. I can wear pants with dimensions and everything!
Oh well. I guess people are just assholes who make fun of you no matter what. I need more nerdfighter friends.
That’s the end of the rant. You can all go back to bed now.