When My First Date Turned Into a Lesson on Inches and Ego

I swiped right because his profile said 5'11" (and because he used the word “charcuterie” correctly, a rarity these days). I showed up at the café wearing my new boots, feeling like a main character.

He walked in, and… well… let’s just say those boots didn’t suddenly make me 6’2”.
Reader, he was not 5’11”. Unless we were measuring in optimism.

The moment we locked eyes, I swear I could see the panic mirror itself on his face, both of us silently recalculating posture strategies. I straightened like a board. He tried a subtle tiptoe move. Neither of us won.

Conversation-wise, it wasn’t terrible, but every time I leaned forward to sip my latte, I felt like a praying mantis looming over its prey. He cracked a joke about “fun-sized” people, and I almost choked trying to laugh politely. I spent the next hour figuring out if I could slouch in a way that looked casual instead of Quasimodo.

The worst part? I actually liked his vibe. He was smart, funny, and had strong opinions about the Oxford comma (as one should). But I couldn’t stop obsessing over our height difference. My brain kept yelling, This looks like a scene from a rom-com where the casting director was feeling chaotic.

We wrapped things up with an awkward half-hug where my chin practically rested on his scalp. He texted later saying, “Had fun today, you’re even taller in person 😉.” I responded with, “Haha, yeah… gravity’s wild,” and ghosted like the coward I am.

Takeaway:
Dating is hard. Height is weird. And sometimes, no matter how kind someone is, your inner narrator just won’t let you get over feeling like you’re protecting your little brother from bullies.