Give Him an Inch...

There is a long-standing argument in our household. I know that you are wondering what two high-school lovebirds could possibly fight about given the world's economic climate being so blissfully peachy, the amount of time that they are now forced to spend together, our self-cleaning home, tires and husbands that never go bald, and the consistency of their tastes in all things music, movies, and literature.

Sorry, I must have dozed off for a moment there.

So what do we argue about?

Could it be laundry? Dishes? Fidelity? Finances? Education? Healthcare Reform? The Election? Philosophical arguments over the eternal status of Judas Escariot?

No.

We argue over which one of us is taller. Obviously, we are joking because EVERYONE knows that I am taller (obviously). Or at least, I thought we were just joking.

Then this happened:

The Hubs stands on a stool in the middle of the kitchen as Supergirl and I ready ourselves for school and work. There is really not a reason, he is just standing on a stool. 

Not Amused Mother of Four Year Old at Too-Early-O'-Damn-Clock in the Morning:

"Daddy is standing on the stool to see how it feels to be tall." 

Oblivious Four Year Old, Stuffing Face With Pickle (BEFORE Breakfast):

After looking Hubs up and down, "Oh, are you trying to be tall like Momma?" 

And I laugh myself all the way to the car. In fact, I am still laughing a bit now.

But he seems crushed that Supergirl would think that he is shorter than me, which makes me believe that he REALLY did not know that he is, in fact, the shorter person in this relationship, that this indeed has not just been a joke argument for the last 18 YEARS, and he has no clue that I am looking down at his bald spots when we are walking around.  

How could he not have known? Did he think that everyone was just picking on him, or that for some reason, all people everywhere are bad judges of height?

Denial is strong in that one, it is.