A Day in the Life Part 9: Height differences are best left to romance books. Or is it…

Several months ago I made a post on my husband’s physical similarities to Andrew Black, Earl of Townson, the hero of my first novel. In case you missed it, there really aren’t many similarities. Despite my mother’s persistence, I did not model Andrew after my husband. Except for two physical characteristics: 1. the broken nose and 2. the unusual height.

My husband is a bit taller than most men at 6’4″. Now, I stray away from the average, too. Just in the other direction.

When I stand perfectly straight without shoes on and my heels pressed against the wall, I come in at exactly 5′ even.

Yes, that’s my lot in life. I’m that woman who’s married to a giant and has kids who will be taller than her by the time they’re in third grade.

We’ve been married a number of years now and our height difference has actually worked out in a lot of ways. When we’re looking for something, I’ll scour the bottom half of the room–in the cabinets, under the table, behind the bookcase etc; and he’ll look up top. Cleaning works the same way. I clean the bottom half of the window, he cleans the top.

Now when it comes to things like hugging and kissing, things get awkward. How can they not when there is more than 16 inches difference between us? Unless I’m wearing high heels, I have to go up on my toes and he has bend nearly in half for our lips to meet. At 18 and 19 when we married this wasn’t a problem and was rather amusing. Now, not so much. (And no, we’re not that old.)

Recently my husband has taken up woodworking as a hobby. I get to hear so much about this hobby that I feel confident in my knowledge as a woodworker’s wife to create a character with a similar interest… Anyway, due to my being vertically challenged, my loving husband decided I should no longer drag a dining chair into the kitchen to use to dig through cabinets (or bother him to do it, might be a good reason, too), so he decided to build me a stool.

Christmas Day, the stool was complete! And thus my present, an 11″ ‘kissing stool’ as he called it. Just high enough to bring me within five inches of his lips; and making me tall enough to rummage through the top shelf of the cabinets, search for things on top of the fridge, and my personal favorite: just the right height that now our two boys can help with the dishes!

Ah, the romance. My life is full of it, I tell you.

Oh, and just one of those TMI FYIs, we did not get to use the kissing stool Saturday night when the clock struck midnight, starting 2012. Instead, the pair of us mid-20s-going-on-60-year-olds dragged ourselves off the sofa and went to bed at 10:30–but not before making a quick stop by the kitchen first to pretend it was midnight and try out the kissing stool…

I hope you all had a great New Years celebration, I’ll be back later in the week with some updates on Sir Wallace the Difficult and a list of my goals for 2012!

8 thoughts on “A Day in the Life Part 9: Height differences are best left to romance books. Or is it…”

  1. My grandpa always made wooden stools that were called “bunkies”
    My mom had so many around her house and when we were first married I had several short ones and some taller. They have a hole cut in the middle to help carry them around. I wish often that I would have saved more. I have the 2 bigger ones but they are always in use.

    So thanks for the memory!

  2. Laughing out loud on this one. At least your hubby MADE your kissing stool. Mine bought a rubbermaid kitchen step stool stool when we first got married. Actually, it was more of a “putting the dishes away in cabinets made for normal height people” stool, (I’m 5’1, he’s 6’2) but one day he walked by as I was putting glasses away, paused, and announced, “Hey, this makes a perfect kissing stool.” It took a few days for him to prove his theory. We’ve had one ever since.

    One of my many physical flaws is baldness. The top of my head is mostly scalp. I blame my husband for this. I’m sure it’s all theory, but I can logically back my theory up. I used to have long hair, down to the back of my knees. I began losing hair from the top — only the top — of my head. I think it’s from all the carbon dioxide being breathed on my scalp every night from the past 34 years. Also when we slow dance. And when we hug. Oh, the gnarly 5 o’clock in the morning breath is enough to melt the nylon off of a hairbrush.

    That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

    1. Initially, the stool was made to “make it easier” for me to reach into the cabinets to put things away or get food out without his needing to assist me. However, when it came time to present it to me, he decided if he romanticized it a little by calling it the “kissing stool” I wouldn’t be so offended. You know like a blender for your birthday. Instead of it being to make smoothies that will help you lose weight, he also buys ice cream and frozen strawberries when he first gives it to you so you guys can have some classic, homemade shakes. But see, that’s just the ploy and after that first night, it’s to make whey shakes and banana smoothies that are supposed to replace meals.

      I love your theory. Stick to it. I also got a kick out of the mental image of nylon melting off of a hairbrush.

      It’s the simple things in life I find amusing. LOL

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