I don't date short guys. Never have, probably never will. Most of my friends know that about my dating preference. Everyone has their thing. Just not my thing. On behalf of the vertically challenged men that leave a few inches to be desired, I feel the need to share a story one of my readers sent to me recently. Who knows, maybe some shorty will get some play from this.
Not from B, though.
There's a Sex and the City episode where Samantha meets a guy sitting at a bar. Said guy woos Samantha and, after giving him her digits, she finds out he's barely able to see over the bar when he hops off his stool. Samantha's interests falls as fast as a ho's panties, but the guy, being used to this, convinces her to spend the night with him. He promises that it'll be the best she's ever had. A tall order if you ask me.
My reader, who we'll call Steph, met Dave at a birthday party for a friend's toddler. Steph hated these types of parties as she was usually the only single in attendance. Being unattached at thirty-three was a one way ticket to "Hook Steph Up-Ville." Dave was the intended match. This was both why Steph decided to come and why Steph almost refrained.
Kids were running around everywhere as if every mother in town drank from a well of fertility and peed their offspring into the party. Amidst the little ones, was Dave, rough-housing on the floor with the birthday boy. Steph took stock. He seemed to love kids, check. He had a good head of hair, check. Chiseled features and a wardrobe that seemed the right amount of put together and thrown together, doube check. Steph was mentally hoping for a hit, when the rough-housing ended and Dave hopped up from the floor.
His height barely changed.
Dave stood at about 5'5. Steph was 5'8.
Not interested in a Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise type of connection, she was immediately turned off. Exit strategy in th
e making. Stomach ache would do fine. "Too much birthday cake," she'd whine when asked to stay longer. But Steph's friend was en route, bringing Dave over for the formal introduction. Unable to run-that'd be too obvious-Steph braced herself.
But after the hostess left them in a space between casual and slightly awkward, Dave piped up with...a height joke. And it was funny. Very funny. Dave knew he was short, of course, and he didn't care. In fact, he was first in line to joke about it. And there was no height requirement for that. It was simple: there was something Steph liked. They talked a while longer and met for drinks a few days later. Drinks turned into dinner and dinner into dessert, which according to Steph was exactly as they say. Guys who are shorter in one region, usually make up for it in the nether regions. Steph was more satisfied than she'd ever been with anyone, taller or anything else for that matter. She couldn't help herself, so she gave in. They were engaged last March.
Blackie Collins is a Manhattan turned LA girl with a big heart and a closet full of girly things like skirts and heels. She loves laying on the beach, dogs with people names like Linda, hoop earrings, and sky-high platform heels. When she isn't writing, she can be found scouring blogs, brunching with friends, or enjoying happy hour at any hour of the day. Her true passion is boys. It is perhaps the reason she can't get anything done. She lives in a great, rent controlled apartment with a great, uncontrolled dog. She has quite a few parking tickets, and dreams of the day DVF or YSL decide to slum it with a line in Target. Get it in with her at http://thatbitchstolemyline.com, email her at firstname.lastname@example.org, or follow her on Twitter @blackiecollins.