Dining out can be a challenge for dwarfs. It’s not just the tall chairs, tables and toilet seats. It’s sometimes the other diners too, as Sara Wiles found out when she went to a local steakhouse. Everything was fine — until the main course arrived.
“Oh gosh. Hi!” a strange woman said, grabbing the back of Wiles’s chair.
Wiles noticed the woman was not alone. A boy, perhaps 10 years old, hid partially behind his mother’s back. A younger girl, maybe seven, squeezed herself between the woman and Wiles.
Most of the time, curious children drag their parents over to wherever she is, sometimes pointing, sometimes just staring with wide eyes. But this time the parent had dragged the children. Well, Wiles thought, at least this socially awkward moment would be novel.
“I want my kids to meet you. You’re so special.”
Wiles knew she was special. She didn’t need a stranger to tell her. Only one of every 500,000 babies was lucky enough to be like her.
She nodded. “Nice to meet you.” Then she went back to her dinner. She knew she was likely the first dwarf these people had ever met, so she wanted to ensure the bar for interaction was set appropriately low.
Stranger lady was undeterred. “Okay, kids, ask any questions you want. That’s what her kind is here for.”
Wiles gripped her steak knife tightly and continued eating, hoping if she ignored them they would go away and leave her in peace like every other non-special person in the restaurant.
The questions started out soft and shy. Then they picked up speed and volume until the last few were nearly shouted. “Do you know Santa? Where are your red shoes?”
Wiles turned back to face the trio. “No. The only red shoes I own are for fetish night. And my ‘kind’ do not exist to entertain you.”
Stranger lady’s mouth opened in a little “oh” of shock. She grabbed each child by the arm and hurried them away, exclaiming over her shoulder, “How rude!”
“Couldn’t agree more, lady,” Wiles replied.