Little people need love (and jobs) too

I’ve had a long standing fear of little people.  Midgets?  Dwarfs – (OMG I totally that it was “dwarves” but my red squiggly line just taught me that it’s “dwarfs”!) I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to call them.

A little back story.  I’m a tall woman.  6’1, to be precise.  And one night, many moons ago, I was at a bar in beautiful Calgary, Alberta and a midget tried to climb me.  Like, actually CLIMB me.  I looked down, stunned, while he grabbed on and started to half-pull, half-shimmy his little way up my side.  All I could see were freakish little stubby fingers making their way towards my face.

I was suitably traumatized.

My phobia developed over the years and I almost vilified little people in my head.  I attributed all kinds of unfair qualities to them and had very definite ideas about where they should go.  People took great joy at my expense and went out of their way to point midgets out to me whenever they saw them, just to see me squirm.

Well, good friends, I have grown as a person and now I am fully accepting of all people regardless of stature.  I told Husbandio just yesterday that I would like to hire a little person to walk in front of me, arms reached up, to support my giant pregnant belly.  And a moment ago, I told a co-worker that I need a midget in my life to be my personal assistant.  I’m not entirely sure why I want my personal assistant to be twee, but it just feels right.

I understand that Peter Dinklage probably has better things to do than carry my belly around, but maybe he has an identical brother who needs work?
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In other news, the family and I are packing up and leaving tonight for a fun-filled week at the cottage.  I’m packing a tablet in the hopes of being able to snag some WiFi somewhere, but on the off chance that I’m incommunicado for the next week, please don’t desert me.  I love each and every one of you and will hug you tightly when I return.