Here’s your prompt for this week:
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “short.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
I hate short men, always have done. The ones I seemed to meet were all pumped up pompous asses with chips on their shoulders the size of Gibraltar.
It’s not that I’m overly tall, but short boyfriends were a disaster, and even I drew the line at standing in the gutter for a kiss goodnight!
One guy even lied about his height before we met, saying he was five feet ten. Sure, standing on a box. He was actually five feet three to my five feet seven. Our romance was short-lived.
Husband Number One was shorter than me.
I wore flats at our wedding, he had the two-inch heels, and still I towered above his head. He blamed my tiara. Yeah, right.
Now Hubby’s got the short straw and I’m still shrinking.
Whereas before I’d snuggly fit under his chin when we were dancing, now there is a distinct gap of two inches.
Nice to feel sheltered and protected by The Big Guy.