If I tried to stand next to one in line for the water fountain, he’d pretend he suddenly forgot something and excuse himself to go to the back of the line.
I’d stab it out with a ballpoint pen, an inky blotch that mirrored my bruised ego. But while we were out, I’d find myself making eyes with the short cutie on the other side of the bar.
After a particularly bad breakup with my 6’1″ boyfriend a few years ago, I had to re-learn how to be single again.
What surprised me was that I was only interested in hooking up with shorter guys.
might surprise you, but I didn’t find out until recently that most women do not feel the same way as me when it comes to loving vertically challenged men.
When most women find out about my preference for smooching shorties, it’s usually met with crinkled noses and “I could never” or “gross” or the occasional “oh, hell no! That leaves more short guys for me.” And they look at me like I just recited one of Hitler’s speeches in German. As such, I’ve always been the tallest girl in my class.
Let’s just say that if the school needed a tree in the school play, I was the top candidate for the job.
And, I’ve liked shorter guys as long as I can remember.
As Lady Gaga would screech, “Baby, I was born this waaaaay.” I know I was. I’d stare at the shortest guys out on the playground, catching kickballs and sliding into homebases, hoping the taller guys would get the hell out of the way so I could ogle at the shrimps with my view unobstructed.
From the first time I noticed boys, I only noticed the shorter ones. You might want to whip out your hankies here because short guys did not seem to like me in return.