Now I wanted to tell you a story. But then I realised it's more like a joke, than anything else. So here goes...
A girl and guy meet online. Their interlude begins with friendly overtones of "I really like Vanessa Paradis", "I'm a big fan of French cinema", "I love photography", "like you, I also want to move to New York". It's a whirlwind affair, albeit online.
Then one day, the guy emails the girl. "I think I saw you in London today." He then exclaims how his bewilderment has led him to forsake sanity and he begins to question everything. Finally, he stops, pauses if you will, and then begins to tell the girl how he has started to date someone else. He begs the girl for forgiveness. He asks her what he should do. Should he stay with his girlfriend, even though he's infatuated with this fair haired stranger?
The girl thinks. She asks around to her friends what she should do. It's not every day that such a romance blossoms. She decides to tell him to stay with his girlfriend, leave her be even. He obliges.
Months pass. The girl has stopped thinking about the guy. An incessant meowing in her ears deafens her of the Frenchman. She celebrates New Years in Paris. She forgets to wish her dear friend a Happy Birthday. And then....
An email. Simple, to the point. He writes, "I have broken up with my girlfriend. My decision. I just didn't feel the connection with her anymore. I'd love to meet you finally."
The girl is not stupid. Far from it. But something tells her this is going to be an interesting tale. And she can't let down her readers. So she decides it's time.
They meet at Prince Regent, a lovely little bar in London. He's nice, although not nearly as nice as his pictures. But he has a sweet smile and seems very kind. They sit. The bar is noisy. She feels as if she may fall of her chair, leaning in far too much to hear his timid, shy voice. "Speak up" she thinks.
Ten minutes in. He's nice. He's obsessed, lets be honest. Her clothes, her hair, he couldn't say a bad word. But finally a bit of banter makes its debut. Glorious.
"Are you wearing heels?" the boy asks
"Yeah, I am." says the girl
"Well you are tall anyway."
Now it's at this point that I may add that on first impression, the guy was short. 5" 9" his profile read. My ass. More like 5" where the heck are you". So the girl begins to let loose on her carnal instinct to lay on a little banter on the line and ridicule, but only in jest for fear of hurting his feelings.
"Well you are short."
Had John F Kennedy just returned from the dead and entered the room? That look on his face could only be brought on by something so shocking. Perhaps Vanessa Paradis herself had just walked past and perhaps flashed him in the process. No. No signs of the Paradis. Just simple words lingering like fog. His brow furrowed. Were there sweat beads trickling down his face? He couldn't concentrate. He made a smile, one that was clearly filled with anger. He kept shaking his head. And then, simply put, he got up and walked out.
Yes, after 20 minutes into a date, the poor gent left this girl alone in a bar. It wasn't a strong, solemn stroll either. More like an old quack muttering to himself as he shuffled off. "I'm sorry, I can't do this. I just broke up with my girlfriend. Blah blah blah".
My father used to talk about short man syndrome. I'd never seen it myself, knowing many great short men with nothing reminiscent of a "syndrome". But alas, I'd just been witness to one afflicted so bad that he couldn't possibly handle the words "you" and "short" in the same sentence.
So there's my "joke". Called a guy short and he left me alone in a bar. You've been warned. Short men will leave you in a bar, sitting there by yourself wondering whether you'd imagined him up. Actually to be honest, I used to watch those Leprechaun movies when I was a kid. I think they affected me...
Map
Hater of short men, apparently.
