I am tall. My husband is short. And that's just how it is.
According to my daughter, who drew my husband taller than me yesterday, "it's not how it's supposed to be."
Funny. My in-laws actually said the same thing, in so many ways.
"Haven't you ever dated men your own size?," she asked me. In front of him.
I certainly don't discriminate based on height. I've dated my fair share of tall guys, and I've enjoyed the company of shorter guys too, one of whom I ended up marrying.
Our height difference, which is about three inches, isn't really that obvious, though is a bit more emphasized when I'm pregnant and about 60lbs heavier than him.
And I've worn heels, like I've always done, without it bothering him one bit.
I admit that dancing can be a little complicated, but hey, you don't need a partner to do a kickass Roger Rabbit.
I am pretty handy to have around, particularly for hard to reach shelves that would generally require the use of a step stool.
And I'm very easy to spot in a crowd.
But it's funny how much of a stigma there still is about short guys and tall girls. It doesn't come as a surprise, well with our male dominated society that emphasizes the ideal of "big strong men" and "small petite women."
And of course, it's my husband who gets all the short guy jokes. And puns. Oh the puns.
But as I like to tell all the smartasses, good things come in small packages. Not with small packages.