Call it fate, or call it bad planning. 

I married a girl almost two feet shorter than me. 

Why you ask? Mostly because I thought she was very attractive and great with money. Financial responsibility is extremely important when choosing a mate. As is killer good looks. Also, the ability to binge watch shows on Netflix as you develop your own gravitational pull from the weight you’ve amassed from eating Oreos and Chinese food is a plus. Not required, but definitely moves you to the top of the list. Those are just a few of the things you need to consider when preparing to ask someone to marry you. Or date you. Or be around you for extended periods of time.  

But there are some things that I simply had no idea I was signing up for. Unspoken truths of disparate height relations you might say. Or as I like to call it: “Biggie Smalls Syndrome”. So I’d like to take 10-15 minutes of your time and outline a few of these hidden truths that no one ever told me. You might learn something and you and I may become great friends in the process. That is unless you’re a jerk. If you’re a jerk, stop readying. I don’t want to be friends. 

-1- The constant back pains.

All normal couples (or as I just now started calling them, Nouples) have no idea what it’s like to have to bend down nearly 24 inches every time you want to give your person a kiss. Or a hug. Or to pick them up and move them out of the way when they’re being difficult and wont let you into the kitchen to get a snack until you’ve helped them fold laundry (they’ll never understand what it’s like to need a mountain of calories just to operate your body). It’s brutal and their little kid hands are far too weak to produce any sort of massage relief. 

I feel like an elderly giraffe most days that’s been on disability. That’s why we’ve employed what some dude on Reddit coined as “O.A.K” - or “Object Assisted Kissing”. This just means that we try to use our surroundings to our advantage. It could be steps, a parking curb, a chair, trees or the defeated bodies of our friends that fall prey to our Mario Kart dominance. You just have to get creative. While Mario Kart is fresh on everybody’s minds, I’d like to take a second to rant on how it furthers a socialistic agenda geared towards the youth of America. Ever noticed that power-ups become less and less useful when your in 1st place? Guess who always gets that damn lighting bolt that shrinks everyone? Last place. Do you know what that game taught me? It taught me that it’s better to just hang in second place. It’s striped me of ambition and doomed me to a life decorated in the silvery gleam of almost. But I digress. The next thing no one every prepared me for was…

-2- The stares.

Is she his little sister? Is he kidnapping her? Why does it look like an orangutan holding hands with a puffin? Wherever you walk, people will stare at your height difference. “That’s adorable” some will say, or “Why do short girls always steal the tall guys!”. But most are just curious how we coexist without me accidentally running her over. The answer? I make her wear bells in the house so I know where she is at all times. 

We do get asked a lot about future children, oddly enough. Will they be tall or short? Will your kids average out and be normal? Katie usually threatens me when I’m being difficult that she’ll produce a short son and giant daughter. Which I’ve learnt to be okay with. My giant daughter would obvious become a model or professional athlete while my short son could become a jockey or CEO of a tech start-up with a name like Vasti or Fringer. At the very least we could have our own reality TV show based around the wacky situations we’d surely find ourselves in. We’ll just need a snappy title and we’d be set…

But what I’m really terrified of is the fact that Katie is 4 foot 11 inches tall. Do you know how tall I was when I was born? 2 feet long. Katie, as a full grown adult, only has 2 feet and 11 inches on the 5 second old me. Think about that. 

-3- Being used as a human informercial “Gopher”

“Hey Ryan, can you reach that for me?” is something I hear every single day of my life. I’m even brought shopping for the sole purpose of reaching the top rack of clothes that she’d normally have to ask the workers to use the pole to get. You know the pole well if you’re short. That shimmering alloy of defeat and shame. I’d feel used if it didn’t give me a glimmer of purpose in life that I so desperately crave. 

It happens a lot with strangers too at the supermarket. Old ladies straight covet me when I walk in. It’s like they can sense that someone who can reach they’re discounted canned peaches is near. 

Early in our relationship, we were shopping at Forever 21 or some other similar discounted hell (no place for me to sit and I’m surrounded by an overwhelming amount of color, clutter and hipsters) when she saw a shirt she wanted to try on. She went to locate the pole of shame when I made a fatal mistake. I reached out my orangutan arms, clasped the shirt and handed it to her. You could see the awe spread across her face, followed by the realization of this newfound power she had discovered. She’s still drunk with that power. I’ve been her reacher ever since. 

-4- House modifications.

You know all of those cool DIY projects you see on Pinterest? Now imagine spending all that time making them and having your wife instruct you to install it about 12 inches too short for you to ever use or enjoy it. Same goes with everyday household items/appliances. I just LOVE our munchkin proportioned necklace/scarf/sunglass holder bar thing. You know what’s the best thing ever? Trying to take a shower with the water hitting you at the bottom for your rib cage. 

We’re actually looking at purchasing a home for ourselves right now and I’m running into an issue that Katie will just never understand. We keep seeing these amazing homes with slope ceilings. Looks amazing. That is until I realized that upstairs I have about 3 feet of livable space before my forehead is met with drywall. 

-5- Short does not equal taking up less space.

I’m 6 foot 6. Katie’s 4 foot 11 on a good day (okay I get it. Not EXACTLY two feet). We have two couches. One is about seven feet long and the other is about five feet. Guess which one she always takes? Apparently, having three unused feet of extra space is paramount for her. Me? I get to practice yoga-esque contortions on the five foot couch. The weirdest part of this is that it’s not an isolated occurrence. I posted about my trials and tribulations to Reddit’s “Tall” subreddit and the overwhelmingly common theme was short spouses taking the long couches. This leaves us with two possible conclusions. 

  1. Short people conspire together to deny tall people comfort
  2. Short people are jerks

Take your pick. Personally, I side with the first possibility. I like to imagine these secret short people summits where they conspire against G.I.A.N.T.S or Gigantic Idiots Always Nab The Snacks. After years of the taller humans always getting the better snacks, the shorties are unleashing their terrible endgame upon us tall folk. And that endgame is muscle cramps. They probably meet right out in the open too but in places where tall people never go, like low-hanging parking garages, house’s built in the 1900’s or H&M’s men’s department (which is apparently made for 110lbs guys 5 foot 7 and under).  

Why don’t I move her, you say? That brings me to my final point…

-6- Short people have superpowers.

There’s a reason short people still exist and haven’t been replaced by us tall folk. And that reasons isn’t that they can hide in tall grass or cornfields really well. The reason is that…

They have superpowers. 

Katie can actively alter her density if I try to move her when she doesn’t want to be moved. I’m talking what feels to be a 50 pound difference. She does this at will. She can also pinch a much larger human into submission and has developed the ability to stare down and oak tree. It’s freaky and I’m beginning to think that they have started to evolve to stay competitive. Kinda like a consolation prize for their overall lower wages earned over a lifetime, their inability to ride the best roller coasters and the fact that they can never see all of the ingredients at Chipotle while ordering. Seriously. I’ve seen my wife hit her forehead on the glass because she had to practically jump to see the salsa options. 

-In Conclusion- I wouldn’t trade her for a millionaire giraffe.

Bold words, I know. It’s burning a bridge that could have been a life changing experience. But that’s just how I feel. Human emotion knows no logic. I could be living the high life, cruising around Africa looking for lions to throw sticks at as we look down on all that is shorter than us. Which turns out to be everything. We could buy all the trees and extra-long turtleneck sweaters we wanted. 

But I picked a short girl who pinches and can’t reach the good snacks that I hide from her. And I’ve never looked back (or up). 

Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy