In a previous post, I considered my selection criteria should I be in the husband-picking-trade again. I am not planning on setting the current one adrift on an ice floe during hungry bear season but it is fun to speculate.
I did not get much traction in the task last time. With discussion of the preliminary assumptions and general stuffing about, I really only tackled the level of geekiness I would find acceptable.
Today I am going to throw myself into the vexed issue of height. I am a tallish woman myself - not small side to side, either. The current husb is a giant human string bean. He has trouble with pendant light fittings but can generally get through door frames without sconing himself.
When he was last huntin', fishin' and shootin' for a woman he had a height cut-off. I am not sure if he ever told me what it was. Praps I fell below but he decided I was just too darned attractive to pass by. (I know, my natural modesty is often commented upon.)
Being of the jolly green giant persuasion, I had always assumed I would end up with someone smaller than me. It has been slightly weird to live with a man where I need a step ladder if I want to smooch him without getting neck cramp.
Could I go a shorter chap? Or a taller one (ye gads)?
Shorter, lets see, hmm. If he was as short as me, I would not have as much trouble with the quilt. Winters are currently a war zone to keep my neck and his feet covered.
If the next dude was shorter, I could hide the best chocolate in the top cupboard for solitary snorking. I would not have to keep the hair on the top of my head tidy*, because unlike the current model, he would not spend all day staring at it.
But then, if he was really short, we could have the whole step ladder/ lip lock prob again. Further, rather than gazing at my coiffure, it would be my chest under the radar, and frankly it is not improving with duration of gravitational exposure.
And if he was much larger that husb. #1, unless he had asbestos feet we would probably have to move to a 2-quilts-in-one-bed system, and that doesn't augur well for the passing grope.
Geez Louise. I am sure I haven't achieved husbandal perfection. The conclusion to these trivial dribblings? Lets say somewhere between too short to pucker easily and so tall I have to dust the cobwebs around the cornices so he doesn't look prematurely grey.
*You got me. That one was a flagrant lie. You could describe my hair as having a tragicomic air, as if I had a shaggy eighties perm and then tried to end it all with some volts.
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