MY PREY, MINE!

A statuesque woman of my acquaintance was fuming the last time I saw her. Apparently her cousin has hooked a man.
Her cousin is less than five feet tall. The man in question is a long-bodied basketball player.
“Dammit, that’s what I should have! Bitch!”
She was infuriated that her mousy-midget-babydoll cousin didn’t do the gentlemanly thing and act as a matchmaker, instead of grabbing the nice tall guy all for herself.

My statuesque friend is over six feet tall, and bitterly resentful of short women getting all the attention. As well as chocolates.
Especially her selfish miniature pig of a female relative.
Who is also younger.


AMAZON FITS

While I can grasp her ire, I can also understand why men prefer women shorter than themselves.
But I agree that a differential of approximately a foot and half is a little ridiculous.
The proper distance is between eight inches and two. No more, no less.
Being five foot eight-and-a-half inches tall myself, that means that women who are under five feet are out of the question.
All in all it’s a pretty good thing I live in San Francisco, rather than South West Africa.

By the same token, I would be out of place in the vast interior of the United States (i.e.: everything between the Oakland Hills and the Alleghenies), which is populated entirely by giant hairy bigfootesses who are somewhere between six feet and eight feet tall. That’s also where this particular statuesque woman was raised.
Beef and dairy country, with lots of lard, peanut butter, and calcium supplements.
Freaks.

She claims she’s taller than most of her family, but I’m certain she’s only saying that so that normal people (like myself) won’t feel shrimpy and small around her. I’m halfway convinced she moved out here because she’s the short one where she comes from.
Which is Giant Hairy Bigfootess Land.

Still, I hope she finds herself a compatible giant soon.
I’m not entirely sure, but I think tall people go cannibalistic when they’re frustrated for too long.
I’ve heard stories.


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