While I am, unarguably, the shortest member of my family, It is not by a terribly wide margin. My ancestors were tall, husky Scandinavians...and then something went amok in the breeding and we kept the husky but dropped the tall. We've even managed to pick up "stout" and "painfully awkward", but that doesn't really pertain to this entry.

When I first met Miles, his height didn't strike me as obscene, for I was used to being around people taller than me...but that was before we began living together.

He has a habit of misplacing an item while talking and pacing on the phone. I will look for hours to find said item, something desperately vital like newly purchased gum, and come up empty. It isn't until I haul a chair from room to room, situating it in the center of the perimeter and climbing aboard, that I tend to find the object. The fourteen-inch difference in our height makes itself known in these times. What the heck are the car keys doing resting on the back corner of the refrigerator, anyway? Normal people don't do that, do they?

In Wilmington, there were many mornings that we frantically searched for his wallet, and I don't know how many times we'd resort to calling his cell phone just to figure out where it was hiding. It was worse there, when I had our microwave seated at the top of the refrigerator. More high surfaces to take advantage of...just what I needed.

Here, it is no different...and it is the DVD handling that hooks me most often. We finish watching a movie together, on those rare nights when I don't fall asleep first, and I rise to extract the disc and tuck it away in the stash. One problem: where's the damn case!? I'll pull out every under-bed storage container looking for it, only to find it placed high atop the TV. It's enough to make someone of shorter stature crazy.

I think I am going to begin tucking things in low nooks so that he can't find them. Socks, underwear, and the like. Oh, and I think I am going to hide the cookies in one place he'll never look: the cleaning supply closet.