I’m tall. I mean, I’m really tall. And I don’t mean 5’10” tall. I’m 6’1”. That’s ridiculously tall. Kermit the Frog once said: “It’s not easy being green.” Well, it’s not easy being a tall woman, either. Among the more common pickup lines we tall ladies hear: “Do you play basketball?” (No.) “What’s the weather like up there?” (Icy.) “I’d like to climb you.” (Really, I’d rather you wouldn’t.) While some women think being tall is something worth writing a book about, other women perceive it to be a disability equivalent to a clubfoot. Mostly, it’s a blessing and a curse. I can reach the highest shelves, but I’ll never blend into the crowd. Dating? That’s a whole other story. For guys who admire amazons, here’s how to bag a tall chick.

I was intrigued by the amount of interest and opinions voiced in last week’s posts about height, which led me to think that there was more on this topic than is usually discussed. When I think about height, it is usually in terms of style. As the fashion industry tends to favor the long of limb, I am not always thrilled by my lack of inches. What I found particularly interesting was that most of you who said you were short did so with pride and without fashion phobias. Clearly I was not on the same page as everyone else, so I began talking to women in all ranges of the height spectrum to see how they felt about their height and why. The results were staggering: women viewed height in the context of power and politics.

Lately we’ve been talking a lot about height. Ali has written two pieces in the last few days, about how to amplify your height (if you’re on the shorter side) and the height issues that can come up in relationships. We also posted part of an essay from a woman about being tall and how it impacts her dating life. Many of your comments on these posts had to do with your own insecurities about your height, whether you’re “tall” or “short.” Meanwhile, Meryl Streep, who plays Julia Child in the upcoming film “Julie and Julia,” says about the famous chef’s 6’2 height, “I mean, it’s like having club foot ... it was a handicap of sorts, certainly in the world where she was born.”

I’ve only dated a few men that are shorter than me. And when I say “a few” I mean one. Maybe two if I really dig—deep into the Dead Sea perhaps. I have definitely dated a lot of guys that are within an inch or two of my own height.

Being in a relationship with a shorter man does not bother me one bit. In fact, I think there should be more couples with shorter men and taller women. But if I have no problem at all, why do I usually find myself with those 6’2’’ fellows?

Why is it that the one thing you really dislike about your body is always the one thing you can’t do anything about? I have sort of accepted my short legs, or, rather, I have kinda accepted the fact that they are short and sparing a minor miracle, that’s not going to change. Standing somewhat proudly at five feet five inches I fall into the boring average-short category. To my surprise, however, people tend to think I am tall. Maybe it’s the heels, but I think it’s got more to do with attitude and unswerving conviction that I am a tall person trapped in a short persons body. I’ll eventually get over the dark despair in my heart over my inability to try out for America’s Next Top Model, but in the meantime…

I went on a date the other week with a pair of hot Swedish volleyball players with galactic hoots and bodies so taut that quarters bounce off bellies. These buxom hotties could easily have graced the pages of Brodawg Magazine, posing in the rain, wearing only leather belts. As they were putting on their heels to join me in the champagne jacuzzi, it occurred to me that these phantasmagorical sirens weren’t doing it for me. Then I woke up with both of my arms in my pant legs. Cursed margaritas, so tequila-y and delicious.