A Minor Trial of Being a Short Person

Today, I spent a good while making a seat cushion for the truck:

It was ridiculous. I could barely see over the steering wheel. I suppose it wasn't really necessary, since I don't drive the truck that much, but I hate straining to see. That, coupled with the strange fear that a cop might mistake me for an underage driver and pull me over made the cushion more of a necessity.

I am about the same size as my grandmother was. Really, though, as her back stooped with old age, I was taller than she was. She drove an Oldsmobile Delta 88. I don't know how. I remember driving it once. I literally had to look through the steering wheel of that old boat. My dad says that car was the smallest one they could find when she bought it.

Really, though, I'm not complaining, and I'm not angry at the industrial world for making vehicles suitable to the average person. I can always make myself taller (I've been wanting a pair of those stilts drywallers use for the longest time.), and I can fit places you taller people can't.