Who wears short shorts? We wear short shorts!

Yesterday was my Palauan monthiversary and I can tell you that if I
had a nickel for all of the things I wish I had known about before
coming out here, well, then that huge paycut I took wouldn't be nearly
so bad. Hell, make it a dollar a pop – it'll enable me to live the
lifestyle to which I would like to become accustomed.

Take shoes: I wish that I hadn't spent all that money on closed-toe,
workplace appropriate mules (cool and sophisticated!) and instead been
told that flip flops are completely acceptable EVEN IN COURT. Or that
"suit for court" in fact means "cropped pants and a plain top,
preferably unstained." Or that my access to common office supplies
would be substantially reduced from the veritable warehouse of goodies
I had available in a law firm. Like, for example, that I would have
no stapler. Or pens. I might've executed a last-minute raid of the
copy room on my way out of the firm. ("No, I don't have a three hole
punch and a paper cutter in my briefcase. Those are, uh, personal
files.")

Most of all, though, I wish I had been prepared for the fact that
Palauans are a very conservative and modest people. And that the
Palauan concept of "modesty" defies all logic. For instance, it is
completely appropriate to show as much cleavage as you want, even
almost to the nipple and even in the workplace, but it is borderline
obscene to show your bare shoulders. And spaghetti straps might as
well be porn. (Those of you that know me well know that this part
bothers me not at all. I'm fond of taking the girls out for a walk is
what I'm saying.)

And swimsuits. Oh, swimsuits. Common practice here is to wear shorts
over your swimsuit AT ALL TIMES – in the water, out of the water,
tanning, walking, swimming, snorkeling, whenever.

Now, I am not a thin person. But neither am I a huge mound of
gelatinous rolling hills that shake and quiver as I clod upon the
land. I am, in a word, chunky. In another word, curvy. Pick your
poison. There are some women my size who would never even think of
being seen, even by a partner, in a swimsuit without some item
covering said suit and a lady's typical problem areas. I am not one
of those women and my reasoning is this: They don't make a sarong or
pair of shorts that will fool you into thinking that I'm a size 8.
So, I'd just rather dispense with the game-playing. I'm very
Popeye-an: I yam whattayam.

To Palauans, though, the very thought of prancing about in only a
swimsuit is horrifying. To quote some of my more colorful relatives,
it just ain't fittin'.

So, fine. I'm hip to the jive. I can blend in. And off I go to find
board shorts that won't detract from the cuteness of my halter tankini
(Newport News. No really. It's not your grandma's catalog anymore.
Well, maybe it is. But whatever. Real clothes for real women with
real hips.)

Anyway, I head off to check out the clothing stores here (all three of
them) and I immediately discover the Great Paradox Of Palauan Fashion:
Most Palauan women are about my size, if shorter, but all of the
clothing stores have clothes imported from Japan or Thailand or
Taiwan, which clothing is understandably cut to fit Japanese, Thai and
Taiwanese women. In other words, it's tee tiny. They're like doll
clothes. Or, perhaps, human-style clothes meant for Paris Hilton's
tiny Chihuahua (no euphemism intended).

In short, my shopping expedition was fruitless. In one store, as I
perused rack after rack jam-packed with impossibly tiny shorts, the
clerk came up to me and said, "for you? No. No have. You too big."
Naturally, this did wonders for my self esteem, I can assure you. And
before you ask – no, men's board shorts are not an option. Any shorts
that fit the hips of a woman of good Irish, child-rearing heritage
gape horribly at the waist and make my waist resemble that of
an Oompa Loompa. That's let himself go.

And all of this left me wondering: Just how do Palauan women
find clothes here? Does the fact that they are, on average, three to
five inches shorter than me place them within the range of clothes
sized for a Cabbage Patch Doll? Have they bought up all the regular
clothing, leaving behind only these tiny remnants? Do they just not
swim because they can't find the elusive board shorts?

Sadly, I have no answer. For my part, I did what any statuesque expat
would do and I imported some shorts. Until they arrive, well, the
locals will just have to put up with my naughty attire.

Speaking of modesty, witness some Japanese tourists at the local hotel:



Moments later:



Now, I'm told that the Japanese have an aversion to sun that explains
the protective clothing. But I like to think that the man on the left
is staging a water ballet adaptation of Little House On The Prairie
and he's upset that there's a giant green tricycle in his shot. It's
a BONNET for Chrissakes. But I digress...

Another main difference about which I knew but didn't think too much
about is the height differential. Now, I'm only 5'8". This is not
considered tall among the purple mountains majesty and amber waves of
grain just teeming with giant Americans reared on milk from hormonally
treated cows. Here, though, 5'8" is Very Tall Indeed. Stare-worthy.
At first, I didn't understand why everyone stared at me whenever I
stood up until a local clued me in that they were "waiting to see how
high you will go." (On a related note, I'm thinking of importing the
Hotel Heiress, who stands almost 5'11", to do a freak show. I plan on
charging three bucks a peek. Five if she flashes.)

The upshot of such a Lilliputian populace is that the same stores that
sell the Tiny Shorts Of Doom also sell awesome platform heels, to wit:



These heels serve a dual purpose: First, they elongate an otherwise
stumpy body into an acceptable state of voluptuousness. Second, they
elevate the bottoms of your feet to a liveable distance from betel nut
spit. Double score. If you think I draw stares at normal height, you
should see the reaction when I wear platform heels that make me an
even six feet. It's like a low-budget horror movie. Some people run
in fear.

The net result of all of this is that I'm quite the hit among the
local men. I attribute this to the fact that my height and skin color
make me "exotic" and my size makes me normal (direct quote: "You are
not like the other Hallie women; most of them look like they have
cancer."). And, lets face it, I'm prancing around the beach in what,
in Palauan standards, amounts to stripper garb. So, my stock's high.
I have had offers both crude and courtly and have at least one
stalker. As to the latter, I almost accepted a seemingly innocuous
offer of a boat trip to one of the Rock Islands (hitching along with a
funeral procession), until a local friend pointed out that (a) he very
much considered it to be a date, and (b) because the boat would
contain only Palauans, he could very well tell everyone that I had
been purchased or was for sale – or both – and I would be none the
wiser. So, I declined. You just can't be too safe. And if I'm going
to be sold, I want at least to negotiate the price.