Does height matter?

In college I coined it the Jolly-Green Giant Syndrome. I was suspicious of men shorter than me that pursued me as a romantic interest. I thought back to slow-dancing at the high school dance and the guy who only came to my breast. He mumbled the Luther Vandross song as he rested his head on my left breast. Or the mere fact that I was taller than everyone (girls and guys) throughout most of my high school life. I didn't date much in high school. Not only because of the height issue but there just weren't a lot of eligible boys. And at that age, guys liked having girlfriends that were shorter or smaller than them. I was always on the back row for school pictures, or any event that included lining up from shortest to tallest. I waved to my girlfriends up front...I was in back with all the boys. Thankfully enough, my family instilled great values in me and I never slouched. I held my chin up and shoulders back. But I also secretly dreamed of the boyfriend that I could look up to and that would make me feel dainty. However, college proved to be an ideal situation for dating because most of the men had reached their height potential. No situation is perfect, I still got called names like - Big Bird, 6'5 (I'm 5'11), or Stretch. I remember once being asked to dance, and when I stood up it was glaringly obvious I was taller than him. His expression appeared a bit uncomfortable. We made it out to the dance floor and then he abandoned me. I think after that moment, I subconsciously swore off dating shorter men. It wasn't until 11 years later that I fell for my first short man. I noticed him when he walked in the restaurant, I thought he was cute and short. He happened to know the friend I was with, so we all engaged in conversation. I ended up talking to him most of the evening, I found him interesting. He mentioned later that he couldn't help but stare at my breast at points during the conversation. From his vantage point of 5'7 (still think he might have been shorter) I guess it was inevitable, right? We became fast friends and even faster lovers. He told me, he'd dated a couple women taller before. It was a little different for me at first: being the taller one, looking down at him, or my legs dragging the floor when he carried me to the bedroom. Still, I maintained an open mind and decided I would put that feeling behind me to truly get to know this person - this man shorter than me. It was an intense relationship for about seven months. The sex was amazing. And it is true what they say - it doesn't make a difference when you're lying in bed. Although, there are a couple positions that didn't work well with the height difference: standing up or doggy-style. Nonetheless, I have told my girlfriends that he's in the top two for best sex I've ever had. No, I don't think it was because he was short...we were more sexually compatible versus being a good match romantically. Physically, my preference is to date someone taller than me but I can truly say I'm open to dating men shorter than me.

A line or two

Here are some pick-up lines or just lines I have heard directly or indirectly:

1. My therapist said I would meet the woman of my dreams today.
2. So, the tall guy is going to be buying drinks at the bar. (the tall guy being him)
3. Can I talk to you for a minute...3o seconds?
4. Whoa! I like 'em tall. Can I holla at ya?
5. Hi. You dropped this - he hands me his business card.
6. Do you believe in lust at first sight?
7. If I only I were ten years younger and not married.
8. Baby I can take care of you! If you go out with me, I'll buy you a Louis Vuitton.
9. I'm just going to skip the lines...you, me. Can you picture it?
10. While sitting at a bar...

Him: We're headed to a jazz club a couple blocks away, would you like to join us?

Me: No thanks.

Him: I would like to give you my number, maybe we can go out sometime. Friday night?

Me: Oh...no thanks, I have plans.

Him: Saturday?

Me: Um...I have company coming to town.

Him: Monday?

Love

My grandparents were married for 70 years. That's a life span for some. My grandfather once said to me: "Grandbaby I hope you meet someone and have the joy of what I've had in my marriage." They were married at 19 and 15, and by the time we had our conversation I was extending my college career well into my mid twenties. I respected what they shared. I saw that they respected one another. They had ten kids and moved eight times before calling a small town in northern Florida home. They were unselfish, loving, hard-working and faithful. He called her "sister" and she called him by his first name, Tommie. When I see older couples holding hands, sitting closely in the park, or helping each other onto the train - I'm reminded of how beautiful love is. I don't think love has to fade when you get older, like most things it adapts with time and situation. Love doesn't have to be defined on certainty, I think true love is measured on how you weather the uncertainty. My grandparents were friends. And I have always believed that a strong relationship is based on a good friendship...you really do have to like each other. Love is not enough. I ask this question of people often: Is marriage unrealistic or are people unrealistic? The overwhelming majority has answered - people are unrealistic. And marriage doesn't equal love, plenty of people live together in bliss without going through an official ceremony. After all, it's all about the years in between. What my grandparents shared brought joy to those around them. Love has a way of doing that.

The 2 Train

I had two unique experiences on the 2 train in two days.

One: I was relieved to feel the breeze of the 2 train at Fulton street. The few minutes I waited felt like an hour, as dreams of my bed danced in my head. I was tired. The train arrived, I jumped on and Uptown was our destination. The train was fairly packed, so I hadn't noticed the man in the zoot suit when I stepped in and took a seat. He was tall, dark and unusual. His bald head perspired and was adorned with an old-school headset which was attached to a small tape recorder. The zoot suit was an odd shade of deep blue that looked like purple. Thin white pinstripes dashed up and down the long jacket and baggy pants. A white shirt peeped out of the top of the jacket which was conservatively buttoned up to only reveal the collar of the shirt. Although there appeared to be nothing conservative about this man. His voice rose decibels above any train noise, passenger conservations, or conductor announcements. He was having his very own reggae concert and we were the audience. This gravely thick Jamaican accent echoed through the train car. His eyes remained closed as he concentrated on the lyrics accompanying him from the mini tape recorder. He held on to a pole and shifted back and forth, once and while he bounced down to the floor and rocked back up. I wasn't always certain that his song was matching what was being played on the recorder. His lyrics rolled heavy...'she say she wanta good man...she no love me no more...me no care.' He barked loudly a few times to add emphasis to his actions and song. The crowd on the train was mixed. Some people tried desperately not to look (who couldn't help but look he was so loud). A couple of people ran out of the train car to another section when we stopped. Several people laughed so hard their faces turned red and their shoulders shook uncontrollably. Most of us looked, rolled our eyes, or just accepted this was another ride on the 2 train. He exited the train at 42nd Street. Enter, the men with the African drums. Just when we thought we would get some rest from all the noise, another reggae fest quickly unfolded. They recited Bob Marley, even threw in some James Brown and Aretha Franklin...'r-e-s-p-e-c-t, take care of tcb.' The two men sported dreads and after their show, gave a speech about being nice, having positive attitudes and living each day with a smile. Music, insight, and please-make-a-donation all in one moment. And when I thought I couldn't get to my stop quick enough, another man joined the festivity at 96th Street. He squeezed in while the Rastas where still collecting and imparting knowledge on the crowd. He quickly unfolded his chair and plugged in his electric guitar. His look was young Stevie Wonder-ish with dark glasses and a suit and bow tie. Unfortunately his show was a cross between wanna-be James Brown and a comedy club routine gone bad. He chimed into the crowd with jingles about Mexicans selling tacos and a crack on R. Kelly's love for the young girls. And it turned out that the guitar player knew the drummers, so they all joined in for a tribute to Motown with a reggae feel. 'Living in America...jump back, I wanna kiss myself.' Or at least it went something like that. Alas, my stop. I couldn't get out of the train quick enough. I stumbled over the feet of other passengers, bumped into one of the drums, and edged out before the doors shut tightly behind me.

Two:
I figured he was a teenager en route to private school. With a backpack in tow, he wore a navy blazer, gray slacks and a trendy pair of kicks. I didn't think much about the fact he was a holding a tube of clear lip gloss when I plopped down next to him on the crowded morning train. It started slowly. At first I thought he was talking to someone next to him that he knew. Then I thought maybe he had an iPod. None of the above. He was indeed talking to someone but it was no one that I could see. He laughed. He got a little animated. He recounted a story of how the cops should have handled the situation better. He even got a bit agitated. I wasn't afraid sitting next to him, but did feel a little uncomfortable. I thought maybe he was high, mentally unstable or for a moment I thought he was doing it for jokes. I really didn't want to make eye contact since we were sitting so close but my curiosity got the best of me. I took a sip of my coffee and looked over at him and caught his attention for a second. His eyes seemed happy, I couldn't tell he was bewildered. He continued his conversation. He laughed out loud at what must have been really funny in his mind, because his chuckle continued a little longer than the last time. He swirled the lip gloss tube between his fingers, told his (playmate) that their stop would be next. He got up, adjusted his jacket, let the ladies exit first. And he was on his way.