Why Tall People are Better

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My wife Lola thinks it’s unfair how society discriminates against short people in favor of the tall. As usual, she’s completely wrong. From a strictly objective standpoint, tall people are superior in every way and deserve all the advantages they get. Lola can’t see that because she’s too low to the ground. I’m not sure of her exact height, but she has to look up at most garden gnomes and traffic cones. I divide people into two categories: People who are my height or taller, and people who don’t matter. Lola, who doesn’t even come up to my shoulders, tricked me into marrying her before I made that rule. That’s all the proof I need that short people can’t be trusted.

My wife can’t wear orange because it causes traffic jams.
Studies show men who clear the six-foot mark get promoted faster, make more money, and are more attractive to the opposite sex. There’s nothing unfair about that. It takes an incredible amount of skill to be tall. The world is full of low-hanging light fixtures and door frames that are less-than-standard height. To survive, tall people develop cat-like reflexes and hyper-situational awareness. Those attributes are in demand in the job market and in the bedroom. No wonder my boss pays me more than my height-challenged coworkers, who look like they could be extras in The Wizard of Oz. At least short people can always find work as flying monkeys. As for the services I provide in return for my higher paycheck, my towering frame creates shade for nearby employees. I save them so much money in sunscreen, especially when we’re indoors. The dangers of prolonged exposure to fluorescent bulbs shouldn’t be taken lightly.

My shadow can protect people from a giant ball of fusion a million times larger than the earth. I’m basically a superhero.
At home, the advantages of having me around are even more pronounced. For starters, I reach things. If my wife needs something that’s on a high shelf, I snag it for her without delay. OK, so maybe I stall first, but I get around to it eventually – except when I forget, which is most of the time. But on those rare occasions when I do actually fulfill one of Lola’s requests, she’s  grateful – or at least she would be if I didn’t brag about my epic feat indefinitely. It’s important for me to highlight those times when I’m useful to offset the far more numerous times when I’m not. When Lola yells at me for doing nothing all day while she cleans the entire house, I can point out that we’re even because one time six years ago I got down a roll of paper towels from on top the fridge. After I make this irrefutable point, I don’t even have to deal with her death glare because I’m tall enough to look right over her head. The advantages of being tall are endless.

My wife only puts up with my shenanigans because she doesn’t have a choice. To replace my services, she’d have to drive to the store and buy an $8 step ladder. Then she’d have to position the step ladder, climb it, reach for whatever she wanted, and then climb back down. That’s a lot of work and money for a function I provide for free. On the flip side, the step ladder wouldn’t complain and would be way more reliable than I am. It might even make a better husband and father than me, but no one will ever know because step ladders don’t gloat. Score one for the tall guy.

Step ladders aren’t very good at cuddling.
Even if Lola did want to trade me in for an inanimate object, her hardwired reproductive instincts wouldn’t let her. At 6’2”, I have the raw sex appeal a small plastic ladder simply lacks. Being tall doesn’t make me more handsome, but it does make it harder for short people to see my facial blemishes. The layer of clouds around my upper body helps. My wife had to wait for a clear day and then use binoculars to discover I had dried Cheez Whiz in my eyebrows. Those spray nozzles should only be handled by trained professionals, which is really more of a short person job. Now they have two career paths to choose from.

Besides obscuring my face, my tallness actively lies to women on my behalf. When the human brain first developed, height was an indication of good genes and access to a reliable food source. In reality, I can’t hunt or heat a piece of bread. Those toasters are a wily foe. Any female knows on an intellectual level that giving me offspring would be a disaster for her personally and for society as a whole, but her built-in instincts tell her the exact the opposite. Biology is the ultimate wingman.

Despite Lola’s outrage at the persecution of the short people, she’s part of the problem. She’s said on multiple occasions that she only likes tall guys with the exception of me. After spending a decade in my literal and figurative shadow, she’s finally overcome the hormonal impulses that made her hook up with me in the first place. Her tolerance for me diminishes by the day, and I’m sure it’ll disappear completely if she ever reads this article. Right now she thinks I’m writing Twilight fan fiction. Someday she’ll learn I only do that on the Tuesday nights.

Given the professional and biological advantages of being tall, it’s only a matter of time before shortness is bred out of the gene pool altogether. Of course, “tall” and “short” are relative terms. Forty years from now, natural selection and advances in nutrition might make the next generation seven feet tall. By comparison, I’d be a hobbit, which would legally require me to live in a hole in the ground. I wouldn’t mind how cool it would be in the summer, but moving is such a hassle. That’s why, as a rational human being, I only support height biases as long as they favor me. If the rest of the population gets taller, I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep up. I already have a stockpile of platform shoes just in case.