The Littlest Survivor

Since there seems to be a growing popularity of these special little people on TV as of late, (ie. Last night's midget being tossed into the ocean scene from Survivor that I will be having a nightmare about tonight was very entertaining, and only one step away from being shot out of a cannon, which I'm sure will be next week's episode.) I thought it was quite called for to do a little Flashback Friday for you all. Yes, yes, it's coming out a day early. Shut it! Cars are released an entire calendar year before their model date, so there.

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Picture it: It was a soggy Melbourne winter night in 2000. I had just gotten off work at the dinner theatre where I was bartending and I was waiting for the tram to go home - the last tram of the night. It was cold and I was tired and a bit zoned out when the tram finally glided to a stop in front of me. The doors opened and I briefly looked up just in time to see a tiny flash of red glitter slip and fly on to me. It was a midget, oh sorry, a little person and she had slipped ass over tit from a combination of a wet floor and what looked like 6 inch platform heels.

WHAM! Right on top of me!

Her chunky legs practically straddled my torso while I was laid out on the pavement in a pool of rain water mixed with dirt, oil and god knows what else; knowing Melbourne on a Saturday night, probably an additional splash or two of urine. She quickly got up and was embarrassed equally as I was traumatized, "Sorry, luv!"

I managed to mutter a fake, "No worries" as I peeled myself off the street.

But it WAS a worry - a big motherfucking worry! 

That was the beginning of the end. I was already iffy about little people due to a strange love/hate relationship I had with a guy that was 5 foot nothing (which is a whole other story I'll be getting to later this year), but this incident set me over the edge.

Thus, I am terrified of little people.

There. I said it (again).

I don't like watching them on TV either; I get very uncomfortable.

If I see one in person, I try to act normal, but I usually hold my breath for some fucked up reason. It's not because I think they smell, but I'd like to think it prevents me from hyper-ventilating.

My family and friends are aware of this quirk and absolutely LOVE to point them out to me in public. Yeah, thanks for that... love you too, jack asses.

I'm sure some will misconstrue my phobia as me just being a bigot or some shit like that - well, what the hell would you have me do? I am what I am, and that just happens to be someone who would likely pee my panties if a little person came up to me and gave me a hug. 

Fuck. Sorry.

I'm sure they're all lovely people.

And no, I have never watched The Little Couple. Or Big World, Little People. Or whateverthefuckelse they have on TV.

PS. To The Bearded Iris,
I'm sure once your son gets too emotionally scared tall to tell you about your crotch rot, you can always find... well... you get the picture. Ahem.