How not to be taken seriously

Inspired by Rita's accurate explanation of what a woman must not write about to be taken seriously, here are my unserious thoughts of the hour. I will redeem myself (for myself, at any rate) via interpretation of 1840s French-Jewish newspaper kerfuffles. But if I put that on the blog, I know, thanks to JSTOR, exactly how many people currently living would find it interesting, and the answer is, at best, three. So here goes:

-Are these my shoes?

-What should I ask for tomorrow when I go in for what's amounting to a yearly haircut? (We get paid in wine and cheese, not hair-and-makeup, so I have to ration.) I'm thinking a trim all around (I'm not just too grad-student-budgeted for frequent $60 haircuts, I'm also growing my hair out) and the reformulation of bangs out of what is starting to look like early-90s Jennifer Aniston "layers." Ick. I wouldn't mind something like this, minus the Sarkozy.

-My inner Upper East Side lady-who-lunches thinks this is fabulous. My 5'2" reality suggests that this would probably hit my ankles. Thoughts?

-Speaking of being small, sorry, but no. Being tall would be great. I'd like to be able to reach stuff in my own apartment (I live with a tall person, which is how stuff got so high up in the first place). I wouldn't mind being able to choose between the handle and the pole on the subway. Maybe for once I could buy a pair of pants and not tack on another $10-15 to the cost for hemming. "And even though people tell me I’m beautiful and I should be a model, there are times when I would trade in my long legs for a petite frame and tiny feet." Yes, that was me shedding a single tear.