But then I realized why I was wrong. By Paula Sevenbergen June 14, Email the author Follow paula7bergen iStockphoto I had the bod of an Amazon but a small mind — at least when it came to romance. Though I could head a department at work, I refused to be a head taller than a romantic partner. This seemed to be the norm, in life and on screen: One lanky guy I dated was small-framed and finely boned, like a gazelle or a grunge guitarist.
When that fling ended, I reluctantly agreed to be set up with someone a whole inch shorter, but hefty. Then I began working at a comics magazine, where I met a kind, witty guy with whom I saw eye to eye — just not literally. We cut each other up with puns. But as we grew closer, I got nervous, so I put up a handy shield: Even supermodels with short rockers Stewart, Jagger, Joel were being trolled, and these women were wisps — what hope could there be for me?
Maybe his lifelong love of super-beings let him go for someone super-tall, even when she was being super-shallow. Instead, I was the one short on confidence. I felt self-conscious about my stature, too cowardly to own my role as the more imposing force. So I stopped slouching next to him. And, like him, I came to appreciate the dynamic of our duo.
Life can be funny or a comic. When my single friends feminists! But while role models are nice, nothing compares to the experience of loving someone who inspires — or forces — you to be a bigger person. The story must be told. Your subscription supports journalism that matters.