Small is beautiful

A terrifying new type of bullying is developing in the workplace. The diversity policies of companies large and small seem to have missed it completely, unaware of the harrowing effect it is having on the lives of those affected.

Managers, ministers and clergy alike seem oblivious to its life destroying results. You, yourself probably aren’t even aware of it.

I’m talking about feet-ism. In particular I’m addressing small feet-ism. As I write this a colleague has passed by my desk and called me a f***ing freak. I sit, head bowed.

OK, admittedly I do have, small feet. I am six foot three and I have feet that are size seven. This does (I admit) make it difficult to stand tall in strong winds and ice skating is completely out of the question. When attempting to skate I do resemble a giraffe on crack surrounded by a swarm of angry bees.

Does this mean I should be the butt of quite so many jokes, whispers and sniggers from the shadowy enclaves at work?

Over the last couple of weeks it has been suggested that I had my feet wrapped (mummy style) as a child to prevent them from growing any more and that I am the “anti-hobbit”.

People are also quick to make comparisons between feet and other parts of my anatomy. I try to rise above it (not in that way) but they continue to speculate. Exposing myself to the whole office may be the only way to reason with them. Well, that would be my defence in court m’lud.

Help me, to break down the final taboo. The rights of ethnic minorities, homosexuals, women and even gingers have been championed and those who choose to discriminate are rightly pushed to the fringes of our society and abhorred.

Together we can beat this; together we can kick this intolerance into touch (or at least near the touchline).

Anyway, I blame my dad. For it is from him that I inherited this trait.

The small footed bastard….