Well, this is your chance, then. Taking a deep breath, you approach the mass of blue skirt that has crushed the grass around it fairly flat.
When you were in the exam, the height of people was what you found imposing. This woman, while still over seventy metres tall when she's sitting, is scarier from her sheer mass. Her lap rises above you, a mountain itself without even taking into account the torso that lies at its summit. As you get closer, she dominates the horizon; you can't see past her, or even encompass the whole of her legs in your line of vision. Yet you're still some distance off.
You hear the rumble of thunder and look up, praying that it's not going to start to rain. But no, the sun still beams down, the sky is still blue.
The thunder is the talk of those two giantesses! Their heads being so far above you, it's not so loud, and you can't even make out individual words. You imagine trying to converse with one of them yourself; you'd be deafened in an instant.
At last, having fought through the jungle of grass, you reach the outskirts of, well, her skirt. It hangs loose here, her knee lying a few feet away, but it's sturdy enough to take your weight and you begin to climb.
The denim is coarse, and provides plenty of foot- and hand-holds. In a relatively short space of time you are already atop her knee. And out of breath.
Her legs slope a lot less, and it might even be an almost pleasant stroll to her midriff, assuming that she doesn't try standing up or anything. From there, who knows? The near vertical surface of her stomach, covered by the pink tee that she wears, would be difficult
Even as you're psyching yourself up for this challenge, you notice the large lump sitting some distance ahead of you, roughly near the middle of this denim expanse. Straining your eyes, you realise that the woman has some sort of pocket sewn onto the front of her skirt. You could try sheltering in there for a while, and try to contact her later, instead of killing yourself from over-exertion.