I’m about 5 feet 5 inches in height, about 6 inches shorter than the average American male.
My best friend “Steve” is about a foot taller and we have been hanging out together since grade school.
I’m better looking than Steve, more athletic, and I’m not bragging when I claim I am much smarter than he is. But when it came to dating, he was clearly the winner. In college, we were roommates and spent many Friday nights at the college bars looking for young ladies. The usual result was me being relegated to a sofa in the dorm’s common area while Steve was inside our room after placing a necktie over the locked doorknob, our signal that the other one was with a “guest”. The only advantage I ever had over Steve was with the HVAC system in the post-college apartment that we shared with “Sam”, our friend of average height. Sam and I were fine but poor Steve kept bumping into door frames and once almost got decapitated by our ceiling fan after a night of revelry. The bathroom was a torture chamber for him having to bend down to shave and do other bathroom functions that normal size people take for granted. After he broke the ceiling fan with his head, he complained that it was always too hot. The HVAC system pumped out cool air that quickly descended on Sam and then me, leaving Steve to suffer through the hot air that it displaced. Of course, Sam and I were relentlessly having fun at Steve’s expense by constantly asking him the question all tall people hate: How is the weather up there?