“I guess my mom’s childhood warnings of ‘Be careful walking’ don’t seem so ridiculous now. I apologize if I’m more of an angry limper than a ‘long-stemmed beauty’ now”—the class laughed even harder.
I paused for effect, then clunked away feeling the noise of the crutches echo with every hobble I took.
I nailed it. It seemed so natural to stand in front of a crowd, recounting an unfortunate story and making people laugh. Although the experience was painful, literally, to endure, when I shared it with a crowd I felt better. I liked hearing the girls laugh and commiserate over my misfortune. I never wanted this moment to end.
The laughs finally subsided. It was time to start class. I hobbled over to the chairs on the side to observe class with my leg elevated.
I smiled as I took my seat, and took out a notebook to take careful notes on what I observed in class that day. Well, that was my intention. What I really did was spend the class writing down the funny speech I had just improvised in front of the class. I wasn’t sure of when or how or why, but I had a feeling that one day, remembering the details of unfortunate situations from my youth just might come in handy.
Epilogue
And that’s how it all began for me. Sometimes life’s events lead you to a very clear decision, and sometimes they don’t. I can’t tell you that when I fell off that stationary horse at horse camp that I was thinking, Someday this will lead me to a career in comedic performance. But I can say that recounting to a group of much thinner, much more talented ballerinas the events that led to me getting my foot run over by a nerd gone wild did make me think for the very first time that I might want to pursue comedy. So sometimes the pain is worth it for the final result.
One of my all-time favorite quotes is “Comedy is tragedy plus time.” I’ve always wrongfully accredited it to Woody Allen, but I just looked it up, and you know who is actually credited with saying it? Carol Burnett! My hero! And I couldn’t agree more. No, these stories are not tragic. But when they were happening, it felt as if the world was going to end. And now, because of time, they make me laugh.
Carol, once again, you are my queen. You said it best.
I’d love to tell you that after all this I love being tall, I always feel beautiful, and I am no longer a dork but a totally cool person. But that would be a lie. I still slouch, I am still annoyed when trying on short dresses only to discover they don’t even cover my crotch. I still get even more annoyed when at the dry cleaners they try to charge me the dress rate when I give them a blouse, arguing “This is dress!” while I retort “Well, it’s a shirt on me!” And yes, perhaps it would have been easier to have had a more gradual rise in height. But it all led me here, and for that I am grateful for the experience.
Whenever I meet a really tall girl, I always ask about her experience growing up. The emotions are almost always uncannily similar—feeling supremely awkward, being treated too old too fast, wanting attention for the wrong reasons. Almost every tall girl I have met felt pigeonholed into the tall-girl triumvirate: volleyball, basketball, and modeling. I hope my story helps a few tall girls out there feel better about their awkward stages and encourages them to pursue their own ideas of what’s interesting and exciting.
My favorite part of “based on a true story” movies is always the “where are they now?” part—the “what happened, did he go to jail or not?” big reveal at the end before the credits roll. You know, where white letters appear on the screen while motivational music plays, and it says something like “Thomas went off to invent seven other computing devices, eventually leading him to be the youngest self-made millionaire to graduate from Brigham Young University.” So I thought I’d do that for you now.
Things did not work out with Jean Claude. After a tumultuous on-and-off two-year-plus relationship and many dramatic getting-back-togethers, we called it quits. However, we managed to have enough over-the-top dramatic moments that have bred hilarious comedy. For that alone, I think it was worth it.
Adam and I have not been in touch since the foot incident. I mean, that makes sense, right? I wish him the best and heard he lives in New York City, which is good for him because he won’t ever have to get behind a wheel again. You can survive on subways and cabs alone in that city. I think he made a good life decision in that particular respect.
Rodreigo and I actually saw each other recently. We are on very good terms and are still in touch. He is very successful and rich and kind. He actually gets paid a lot of money to teach big companies how to help save the earth. And ladies, if he sounds too good to be true, he is. He prefers men. So keep searching for a handsome rich Puerto Rican guy who is saving the earth. Rodreigo is not your man.
Jackie Angel married her high school sweetheart, had a son, and moved to Tennessee, where she has led a free-spirited yet much more conventional life than I had expected her to lead when I met her and immediately wanted to become her in a Single White Female kind of way. I imagined she would have some sort of career that would require her to live on a tour bus and have a P.O. box, so I am pleasantly surprised at her attainability. She’s doing great and we are also still connected.
I lost touch after high school with the childhood friends featured in this book—Amanda, Alyssa, and Jonah Hertzberg—although thanks to Mark Zuekerberg, Amanda and I are back in touch online. I do hope they find this and read it and realize how much their kindness and friendship during my formative, most physically awkward years really made an impact.
My family is all still in New Jersey. My mom now has a “tea cabinet,” which has overflowed onto the counter. My father now works out of the house and after I finally sat him down and asked, “When realistically are you ever going to use all these tiny soaps?” he finally stopped swiping them from business hotels. My brother is a writer as well and, despite my pleas, will not give me the videotapes of his childhood movie reenactments. I imagine he has something much bigger planned for them in the future. And after ten years of living in New York City myself, I now live in Los Angeles with my husband, a very undersize dog (he, ironically, is the runt of his litter—he was supposed to be twelve pounds and barely made it to five), and my son, who was 9 pounds 10 ounces at birth (although I still refuse ever to use a super tampon) and already in the 95th percentile for height. In case you had a shred of doubt, no, I am not a dancer. But thanks for humoring me. I perform live comedy, tour nationally, write, and teach people the art of storytelling. It’s a pretty fun way to make a living.
My adorable friend Adriana from Ithaca College is still one of my best friends and I am so proud of her that she managed to become a professional singer, which is no small feat. And I have a very clear memory of returning to school after the foot-running-over incident and sitting with her on the floor of my dorm room, listening to Bob Dylan and talking about how we couldn’t wait for the rest of the year to unfold. I recall being extremely excited about the play I was about to start directing. It was Sam Shepard’s Action, and the opening line is “I’m looking forward to my life. I’m looking forward to, uh, me. The way I picture me.”
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my tiger of an agent, Brandi Bowles, who believed in this project from the very start, even when it was a scattered mess. Your fierce business sense really kept me in line in order to make this a reality, and I thank you. Thanks to my editor, Laura Mazer, who saw the humor in this book despite our vast height difference. Also thanks to my ferocious managers, Ava Greenfield and Sarah Klegman, who not only understood and took to this material immediately, but also saw what else we could do with it.
Thanks to my original writing teachers in New York City, Nancy Davidoff Kelton at the New School and Glenn Michael Gordon at Media Bistro, whose class assignments forced me to write very early versions of many of these stories, eventually leading me here. A very special thanks to my teacher and friend Kimberlee Auerbach Berlin, whose instruction, guidance, cheerleading, and friendship helped me figure out how to make these stories into a book
. You calmed me down so many times and never lost faith in this project. I’ve never met anyone so giving in my life.
Thanks to the people who looked at an early version of this book and helped me figure out problem areas. Those include the way smarter than me Jim “Iceland” O’Grady, my dear friend and cheerleader Adriana Lomysh, the talented and tall Brandy Barber, my twin brother from another mother Darren Belitsky, and the hardest-working gal in New York, Rachael Mason. Thanks to Theo Greenly for being a pinch hitter in the end and helping me with the last few additions to this book. And thank you to Marcelle Kerp, the coolest lady I’ve ever met, for your help on the final tweaking of the manuscript. And the biggest thanks of all goes to my husband, Dan Curry. Thanks for listening to me bitch, watching me work countless hours, letting me vent my frustrations, helping me with problem areas of the book, and telling me repeatedly that everything will be okay. I love you. Is it weird to thank my dog? Because I’m going to. Even though you can’t read, thank you, Scoops, for sitting with me and keeping me company for the endless hours I have put in over the years on this project. Writing is a little less lonely with a tiny black dog curled up next to you. Thanks to my family, Pam, Bob, and Greg Leitman, for their humor and eccentricities and willingness to forgive me for the comedic portrayals of them in this book (at least I hope you forgive me). Also thanks for the height gene . . . I’ve really cashed in on that one. And Greg, I am beyond impressed that you managed to outdo me by getting back surgery in your midthirties, causing you to “grow” an inch taller afterward. Well played, sir. Thanks also to Kristy and Natasha for being such supporters over the years, and to all my students, who continue to inspire me.
Thanks to Karolyn Gehrig for brainstorming titles with me, finally getting us here. Thanks to Anthony King, John Frusciante, Neil Campbell, and Nate Dern at the UCB Theatre for being way too generous in terms of stage time for me to work out these stories live. Thanks to the hilarious and kindhearted Giulia Rozzi for letting me work through the kinks of many of these pieces live onstage with you in “Stripped Stories” and for letting me cry and threaten to abandon this project many times in your presence. You wouldn’t let me give up, and I needed that more than you could ever know. Thanks to Jenifer Hixson and the rest of the staff at the Moth for helping me figure out which stories were the strongest by your very democratic scoring system. And thanks also to the Moth for playing my stories on your podcast and NPR and helping me build a name for myself.
Additionally, thanks to all the people who booked me on your live shows, which really helped the process of compiling stories to tell in this book. There are so many of you, but to name a few: the hilarious Tom Shillue, my partner in crime Adam Wade, the insufferable Peter Aguero, the gregarious Nikki Levy, and all the various bookers over the years at Asssscat—including Justin Purnell, Susan Hale, and Amanda Sitko. I feel like I wrote half this book on the fly improvising monologues in that show, and that stage time has truly been a gift. Also, thanks to the very tiny Jenna Brister for the L.A. stage time. Okay, also everyone else who ever booked me on a show. Thank you!
Also, I was tremendously influenced by a number of writers who inspired me to try my hand at the first-person genre. Thanks to Spalding Gray for having the guts to put it all out there in a way that revolutionized live theatre. I know we never had a chance to meet, but your style of writing and performing helped shape me as an artist. Your work will live on forever. Thanks to Jonathan Ames, whose books made me want to stop telling setup/punch lines onstage and start telling stories from the heart. Your work greatly inspired me to try writing out my own stories, and your bravery and voice have influenced me tremendously even though we don’t know each other. Thanks also to David Sedaris, who is the undeniable master of this genre. Without you, I wouldn’t have a living hero, and I hope to have the pleasure of meeting and working with you one day.
And most of all, thanks to everyone who was cool and accepting during my horrendous youth. Sarah, Melissa, Aaron, Devin, Ken, Tara N., Gretchen . . . your kindness is not present in this book, as the wretched moments make for much better comedy. But I appreciate all of you who stuck up for my bell-bottoms and me. And to the girl who waited at my locker every day of high school to threaten me to varying degrees based on how much of a freak you thought I looked like, well, what’s the use? You’re not reading this anyway. I forgive you. I hope you are a nicer person now, because it would be impossible for you to have gotten much worse.
About the Author
New Jersey native Margot Leitman is a four-time winner of The Moth Storyslam and was the Moth Grandslam winner in New York City. Her stories have been featured on the Moth podcast, NPR’s Good Food, and in print in Playgirl magazine and the NY Press, among others. Along with her husband, she is the co-writer of the Hallmark movie Cupid’s Bed & Breakfast, how romantic! She is the co-creator/co-host of “Stripped Stories,” a comedic storytelling show, running since 2007 and performing monthly at the Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theatre. She can be seen regularly at the UCB Theatre, where she also teaches and is a frequent monologist in “Asssscat,” their longest running improv show.
On camera, Margot has appeared regularly as various characters on Late Night With Conan O’ Brien, and has made appearances on VH1’s Best Week Ever, AMC, E!, Comedy Central, MTV, and more. Most importantly, she competed on both The Price is Right (where she won $1664) and Let’s Make a Deal (where she won a Toyota Prius). Margot currently lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Dan, her very small dog, Scoops, and her very tall son, Levon.
Selected Titles from Seal Press
We Hope You Like This Song: An Overly Honest Story about Friendship, Death, and Mix Tapes, by Bree Housley. $16.00, 978-1-58005-431-7. Bree Housley’s sweet, quirky, and hilarious tribute to her lifelong friend, and her chronicle of how she honored her after her premature death.
Body Outlaws: Rewriting the Rules of Beauty and Body Image, edited by Ophira Edut, foreword by Rebecca Walker. $15.95, 978-1-58005-108-8. Filled with honesty and humor, this groundbreaking anthology offers stories by women who have chosen to ignore, subvert, or redefine the dominant beauty standard in order to feel at home in their bodies.
Beautiful You: A Daily Guide to Radical Self-Acceptance, by Rosie Molinary. $16.95, 978-1-58005-331-0. A practical, accessible, day-by-day guide to redefining beauty and building lasting self-esteem from body expert Rosie Molinary.
Airbrushed Nation: The Lure and Loathing of Women’s Magazines, by Jennifer Nelson. $17.00, 978-1-58005-413-3. Jennifer Nelson—a longtime industry insider—exposes the naked truth behind the glossy pages of women’s magazines, both good and bad.
Found: A Memoir, by Jennifer Lauck. $17.00, 978-1-58005-395-2. Picking up where her New York Times best-selling memoir, Blackbird, left off, Jennifer Lauck shares the powerful story of her search for her birth mother, and lays bare the experience of a woman searching for her identity.
Dancing at the Shame Prom: Sharing the Stories That Kept Us Small, edited by Amy Ferris and Hollye Dexter. $15.00, 978-1-58005-416-4. A collection of funny, sad, poignant, miraculous, life-changing, and jaw-dropping secrets for readers to gawk at, empathize with, and laugh about—in the hopes that they will be inspired to share their secret burdens as well.
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