Little Miss Valentine

Chapter V: The Human Skyscraper

Little Miss Valentine | Chapter 5 | The Human Skyscraper

"Recreation is our destination. So, don't wait up for us tonight." - Mel and Kim.

----

There were two things on my mind right now:

1. I looked fucking good. Like not to be vain or anything, but I looked like a snack and the whole damn meal too.

2. My relationship with my own body has come along so far in the last few years.

I stood in front of the long, brown-bordered mirror in my bedroom, tracing my hands up my thighs and adjusting my blue jeans, lightly jumping and wiggling into them to make sure they were pulled up correctly. I pulled down the hem of my black top, sheer with an intricate sequin pattern across the front. I posed in the mirror, pushing up my chest a little more and making sure I looked as put together as possible.

I mentioned a little while back that I'm 5'11, yep, I'm a tall bitch. The average height for a seventeen-year-old girl in the UK is around 5'3, so I tower over all the girls in my year group with ease and even a good portion of the boys too. Being a tall girl has its perks, I can reach most shelves without even trying, I have no trouble getting a good view at concerts, and I can intimidate most men without even having to open my mouth.

I'm very proud of my height now - hell, I can't wait until I finally get to six feet - but a few years back it felt like the bane of my existence. I was always the tallest girl in the room since primary school and kids can - and will - be cruel, like little tiny vultures looking at the smallest insecurities or imperfections to harp on relentlessly and rip you apart. The main focus point for them happened to be my height. I used to just hope and pray that someday I'd stop growing so that I could just end up being the same average height as every other girl in my age group, but I never did, in fact, my teenage growth spurt just made things even worse. If I had to hear the phrase "too tall for a girl" again, I was going to punch someone. 

Up until I dated Evan, I'd never even been looked at in any kind of romantic way by a boy. When men say they like a "tall girl" they usually mean anywhere between 5'7 to 5'9, someone who's tall but still short enough for their liking. But when you throw a girl who's just off the edge of six feet into the picture, suddenly she's "too tall". 

Aside from my height, I'm a thick bitch too. I'm not exactly overweight, but I'm very curvy. I have a tummy, thick thighs and hips that are decorated with stretch marks, love handles, big arms, and boobs that could probably keep an entire civilisation feasting for days - seriously, I once dropped a sleeping pill down my cleavage by accident and managed to wear myself out to sleep just from trying to fish it out.

Society tends to hardwire people into associating femininity and prettiness with being short, dainty, skinny, delicate, blah blah blah. I have no judgement for those who fit those criteria, but that obviously wasn't who I am and it lead to a lot of insecurities from a young age, especially when I had not just other kids but grown-ass adults feeling the need to constantly point it out and compare me to others. My ex-model mother was constantly feeding me little snide remarks about how I could "stand to lose a few pounds" ever since I was about seven, which, as you could imagine, really fuelled my little self-esteem.

On top of all that, is it any wonder I ended up utterly losing it and taking anger management classes by the time I was fourteen?

In the present day, however? You can't tell me shit about shit. I'll take my thick ass, stretch marks, and Amazonian height and love every inch of it from head to toe. Almost everything you see about me is 100% natural too, well... except my lashes, my nails, my hair colour, and a good few inches of my actual hair. It's still all real hair; some of it just isn't my own real hair, but we don't need to get into that.