I've met the perfect guy.
He's gorgeous (half-Indonesian background - I love my halfies), talented (singer/songwriter/writer/guitarrist), super lovely, laid-back, smart, funny, and actually enjoys my company. Did I mention he makes a sweet ass cup of tea? Hello!! Dreamboat!!
But, of course there is a catch. Not even the usual commitment-issues or already-taken or bats-for-the-other-team type catch. He's short. Like, as in, I'm tall and he's short. A good head shorter than me. At least. And I don't even mind being with a guy shorter than me, I would never rule it out. I can't afford to because I'm taller than average and if I was to rule out every guy who was shorter than me, well, I'd be ruling out a LOT of men. So while I stood at the bar with Mr Potentially-perfect-if-only-there-was-such-thing-as-instant-height-pills, discussing what kind of films we like, I was secretly visualising myself kissing - nay, BENDING DOWN to kiss him - and mentally measuring the distance and angles required for my lips to meet his.
Not cool. I mean, I was all about the whole Tom & Nicole thing while they were, and in a way I still look up to that. As much as Nicole is a complete looney bin, I admire her for standing tall and wearing heels in that relationship despite Tom's severe vertical challenges.
However, I don't want to pull a muscle in my back from bending down every time I'm in need of some intimate lip action!
So sadly, my dreamboat tea and song maker will have to remain nothing more than a crush, unless the next time I see him we are sitting down together & I can plant a wet one on his beautiful mouth by leaning across and in, rather than down.
Stupid genetics.
Ciao for now xoxo
