Tall

ONE (R)

"YIKES, I'M GOING TO BE LATE AGAIN!"

Today's going to be your lucky day, folks!

The newscaster from the morning news Good Day, Happy Day! announced. They started playing their theme song, which she clearly hates with all her heart, and started stating the news they would tackle like they were going on in play-by-play. But unlike the newscaster and it's ever annoying theme song, Dawn felt the exact opposite of a lucky day.

As a matter of fact, she felt the impending doom of the day.

She made a mad dash to the bathroom and took the quickest shower she had ever done. God knows if she washed and rinsed her hair thoroughly. She wore her chef's uniform, tied her wet hair messily, and had to wear different pair of socks because the other pair was missing. While she searched for her spectacles, which she left in the bathroom sink moments ago, her stomach growled. She didn't have time for breakfast, now that she's running late. These days, Dawn just didn't have time for everything.

But as she balanced her grip of her satchel bag and clog shoes, her stomach continued growling. Gritting her teeth, she stomped her way to the kitchen, held open the refrigerator door to get some of the leftover cakes she got from the patisserie last night, and quickly ran to the front door. Her running stint caused her to hit her forehead to the metal steel hanging low above the door.

"Shit!" she cried, wincing in pain.

She rubbed her forehead, where a red mark was staring to appear and noticed herself on the life-size mirror standing beside her couch. She grimaced. Dawn, unlike other girls, wasn't ordinary. At least from what she told herself.

It's because of her height.

"Why do I have to be this tall?" she asked, loud enough for her to suddenly get upset about herself.

Dawn stood 5'10, which wasn't a normal height for a girl.

Because of it, she felt that she didn't really blend in with other girls. The petite girls, looking cute and tiny in their shorts and skirts and wedges. She stood among the crowds, literally. She's taller than most boys she knew back in high school and college. It's something that got on her nerves most of the time.

She suddenly remember her high school life, which she claimed the worst four years of her life. She would always be last in line, the girl who was put at the back. Whenever school activities were being held, especially the ones which required partners, she would always be paired with another girl because no boys seemed to match her height. She honestly didn't mind it for the first few months of freshmen year but as sophomore until senior year happened, she knew she had to be bothered with the fact that she just stuck in that momentum that she would never really be paired with another boy around her height.

Despite her towering height, Dawn actually felt small and conscious about it.

Like being Ronald McDonald in a children's party. She would never forget the time – probably the only time – when she actually felt like she belonged to something, like groups and cliques. It was senior year grad ball, she felt beautiful, and just about when some boy finally matched her height, he accidentally – maybe on purpose? – poured cranberry juice to her immaculate white dress. She went ballistic that night, locked herself in the bathroom, and cried.

There were a lot of catcalls and teasing in high school. But one particular nickname stuck echoing inside her mind.

Giraffe. It annoyed the hell out of her.

Dawn sighed sharply, glanced on her watch, and gasped when she saw the time. It was eight-fifty five in the morning, five minutes until her nine a.m. shift would start. "Now I'm really late for work!" she groaned.