The only time I remember my legs being this short, I was at church on a Sunday morning, bored to tears by the proceedings, which seemed to be droning on and on and on. I entertained myself by swinging my feet — which activity, I soon discovered, was reflected in the polished wood of the pew in front of me. I was fascinated by the fact that my legs appeared to be walking. There I was, stuck in a boring situation with my mother sitting to my right, others to my left, and no way of escape except through my own inventiveness. So I "walked away" from my boredom into my own mental adventure.
The woman in this illustration has a book. And cats (notice the second tail under the chair). She has snack crackers and a cup of tea and, best of all, she has a book to get lost in. Maybe my need to always have a book with me traces back to that day in church when I realized I had no way of getting lost in a story without dreaming one up myself.