I was in Wild Oats a couple months ago on Christmas Eve, shopping for some last minute items. As I walk down the first aisle, a tall black guy is walking towards me. He stops me as we cross paths, a look of friendly inquiry on his face that launches my brain into preparation for the “mistaken employee” question. But instead of asking where he can find the vanilla soy milk, he promptly blurts out -

“Are you tall?”

My brain nearly crash lands on the airfield. I didn’t see that coming. I look at him dumbfounded, my brain now going in circles as to what possible reason he could have for asking me this. Sizing me up for a girlfriend’s Christmas gift? He is too tall to need any help on the high shelves…

“Uhh….am I tall?” I echo blankly, peering up at him in all of his 6 foot-and-somethingness. My height has never been much of a topic of conversation before.

“For a girl.” he clarifies, surely seeing the depth of confusion in my green eyes.

“Uh…I guess so?” I stammer. My brain goes into amnesia and I suddenly can’t remember what exactly my height is and if it’s really even that tall. I mumble some numbers, only to realize later I gave him my mom’s (shorter) height instead of mine. I’m taller with my boots on anyway.

“Well, I’m taller than you, but you look tall!” he declares with a big smile as we continue our separate ways down the aisle. (Dude, you’re like 6 foot 5″…you’re taller than most everyone.)

I laugh, still lost in the clouds of confusion. “Thank You!” I call after him, hoping it makes up for my brain-dead answers and wanting to appreciate whatever kind of compliment that was supposed to be.

Talk about weird. Random. Weird. Next time I meet someone in the store, I hope they just ask me where the soy milk is….

(I’m 5′ 7 1/2″ in my stocking feet. Just average, really. )