What Not to Say to Your Boyfriend If He Is Sensitive About His Height

  • Hey, little guy!
  • You’re the cutest, littlest man I’ve ever dated.
  • Don’t worry! I LOVE tiny men!
  • You may be height-challenged, but you’re still VERY handsome.
  • You’re the splitting-image of Seth Rogen, only much, MUCH shorter.
  • Can I call you Seth?
  • Wow! This weed’s really strong! Everything’s like shrinking!
  • How much do you weigh? I’m guessing…not much. How about, I weigh you on my kitchen scales…Seth.
  • You’re such a hairy little munchkin. Would you like to curl up in my lap, beside the cat, so I can pet you?
  • I can’t quite reach the top shelf of the bookcase. To save me getting the step stool, would you stand on my shoulders and look for my self-help bestseller Modern Romance: How to Date Little Men without Hurting Their Feelings?
  • According to historian Dr. John Woolf, in his book The Wonders, Charles Stratton—(also known as Tom Thumb)–met Queen Victoria in 1844. Being “height-challenged” herself at 4-foot-11, she was quite enthralled by his supreme confidence and 25-inch height. Not that this has ANYTHING to do with OUR height disparity!
  • My last boyfriend—who’s this VERY TALL writer guy—used Ancestry.com and discovered he was related to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was like, 6-foot-2. Isn’t that cool, them both being SO tall? I bet you could trace your bloodline back to Tom Thumb.
  • While I heat up the pizza, why don’t you relax with a beer at the dining table? I’ll place the 2-step ladder beside your chair, so you can climb up. I know you insist on doing this yourself—indeed, I have no truck with your attempt–but you must genuinely LOVE mountaineering.     
     
  • From my vantage point, I can’t see you. Where in the hell are you? Are you sitting across from me at the table? If so, please speak up. All I hear is a squeak. Admittedly, it could be that sexy, well built, 6-foot, Swedish neighbor, Lars, on his rowing machine… Oh, there you are. I see the hair on your head now, and one tiny hand, waving, I thought for a moment, you were the cat!
  • Protest all you want, at my generosity, but I’m buying you a high chair for your birthday!
  • Here, let me put several cushions under you, to raise you up. That’s better, isn’t it? Subsequently, you can now see over the rim of the table, to eat your pizza, and I can see your cute, little Seth Rogen look-a-like head from your eyeballs up.
     
  • You’re saying, you want ANOTHER mini-bite pizza? One’s not enough? My goodness, Seth! For someone so small you certainly eat like a horse—at least twice your own weight.
  • I love that fifties sci-fi horror movie The Incredible Shrinking Man. I can’t stop thinking about it. How it all began… Hey! Didn’t some mysterious fog surround YOU recently, leaving you covered in glittery particles, when you were out on that boat—and you worried it was radioactive?  
  • My four-year-old has grown very fond of you. Oh, NOT in a DAD way! She loves to play “tea party” with her Barbie® and Ken™ dolls, and would love you to join them this Sunday at 4 p.m. However, there is a dress code (formal attire), which means dressing up. Should you lack suitable clothes for the occasion, she says, you’re welcome to borrow some of her Ken doll ones. Although, I’m not sure they’d fit you, especially Ken’s “dress” shoes. They might be too large.   
         
  • Dammit! Would you look over there? I could swear that’s a mouse hole. It wasn’t there yesterday. What I thought were fennel seeds from a seeded baguette must have been mouse droppings. Once you’ve finished your thimble of IPA, would you be a dear, put on these Ken doll kneepads—then armed with this Ken doll flashlight and this teensy crumb of cheese, crawl in the hole and coax the mouse out?
  • Oh, you’re going home now. Because NO WAY ARE YOU GOING TO CRAWL AROUND, ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES, IN SOME FUCKING CAVE, LOOKING FOR A GODDAMN MOUSE? Well, it’s been a lovely evening, Seth. Let’s do it again soon, okay? Sorry I brushed you off, by the way, when you tried to kiss me. I thought you were a gnat.




Ronia Smits is an Anglo-American writer, artist and cat guardian who grew up in England, the Middle East and Africa. Their humor and salty satire have appeared in The Yellow Ham, Defenestration, Robot Butt, Points in Case and Little Old Lady Comedy. Ronia lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with their husband Professor Brovnik (and other wildlife!).

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