When I was 20, I moved to Orlando to do an internship for Disney World. I worked at an ice cream shop. I wore goofy outfits, smiled at mean parents and crying children and asked them "Would you like sprinkles on that?". Next to the shop I worked at was a very swanky restaurant which employed only the most experienced wait staff, high end guest services "concierges" (not hosts and hostesses,DUH) and actual chefs. Not cooks who have worked in chain restaurants, but actual chefs, who had degrees and snacked on things like foie gras and pate.
I was so impressed by this restaurant, and everyone who worked there.
One of the hosts, AHEM, concierges, used to come in to the shop and say hello to me every now and then. We'll call him Napoleon. Napoleon would come by on his break, or say hello and shoot me a wink as I walked through the back hallways. Finally, one day Napoleon sent me a note via a fellow concierge of his stating that he liked me and wanted to take me out.
Now, this made my day. Here was an older guy, who worked as a CONCIERGE at this swanky restaurant with actual CHEFS, and he liked me! Me, the awkward college kid who was serving sprinkles, or jimmies, or hundreds of thousands or whatever the hell you called them. I was beside myself, and I accepted the invitation to dinner.
One problem: Napoleon was short. Like 5'7 short.
People, I am tall! I am 5'11 barefoot and I love me some heels. So any given day I stand 6'1 in heels when I'm slouching.
But, I told myself to get over it, height is no big deal, he knows I tower over him and he doesn't care, so why should I?
So, Napoleon sets the date and he is going to pick me up and take me out. Everything goes as planned, Napoleon picks me up right on time and we head to the restaurant. He mentioned that I was wearing heels (come on, you find me a cute shoe with no heel, and this was 6 years ago when flats were SO not in style) and that he didn't expect me to. But he swore he didn't care, and laughed it off. We arrive at the restaurant and proceed to the front door.
As we are walking through the doorway, he reaches up and puts his hand on the top of my head and pushes down while saying, "Haha, you know, I just don't want you to hit your head on the way in."
Seriously? Did he really just do that?
The rest of the night was riddled "Amazon Woman" jokes and me getting so fed up with it that I asked him what his mother ate during her pregnancy that stunted his growth. Or did he have a hormone problem?
That night, I swore to never date a man shorter than me. Over time, short men have proven to me that they are never really ok with the woman being taller. And come on, who wants to date a man that you feel like you might break in certain.....situations?
Fast forward to now. I have a Match.com profile. I've had for a while, but haven't found anyone really worth keeping around yet. So after about 9 months of first dates and one bottle of red wine, I decide to change my profile. I was kind of cutesy, a bit long-winded and contained many, many exclamation points!!! And smileys!! :o)
So, I keep it straightforward:
If you can tell me where my headline came from, we'll definitely get along!
Cliff Notes of Me: I find humor in the little things in life. I'm very dry witted and sarcastic. I have an amazing family, whom I hang out with a lot. I also have amazing friends. I am strong willed and independent, and also the most loyal friend you will ever make. I like to start slow. Friends first, the rest comes naturally after that. If you can make me laugh, you're golden!
ALSO - I am tall. 5'11. Really, I'll know if you aren't exactly six feet tall. And, I like to wear heels. So in the effort to be honest, I prefer men taller than me. :o)
I LOVE the Georgia Bulldogs.
That is the exact text of my "About Me" section as of 3 days ago. Since then I have received:
One email from a 5'8 man in Nashville. 39 years old.
One wink and an email from a 5'10 man in Chicago. 37 years old.
One email from a 5'7 man in rural Georgia. 25 years old.
One wink and one email from a 5'9 man in rural Georgia. 25 years old.
One wink from a 5'9 man in my neck of the woods. 33 years old.
One wink from a 5'9 man in Atlanta. 23 years old.
Each email I received says something along the lines of:
"Greetings, I'm (name omitted to protect the innocent short man)
Can someone explain this to me? All the short men in the world are uniting in an effort to kill my hopes that there remains a normal, tall man out there for me.
I'm headed to San Diego tomorrow for a few days. Please God, let there be some tall men out West. My hope needs to be restored. Desperately.