Though I am short for a man, I do not believe that I suffer from that condition known as "Short Man's Syndrome."
Quite the contrary, when I am in the company of tall men, I feel like a small child, eager to please, full of questions, and hopeful that one of my sky-scraping peers will scoop me up and ferry me about the room, or perhaps fly me like Superman.
When I went to school in Austria, my short stature made me quite the novelty. Austrian men seemed to delight in whisking me away from my friends, depositing me at a table in some remote tavern, and filling me with all manner of spirits.
They thought I brought good fortune or something. Or that patting my little head guaranteed a good knockwurst crop that year.
One night, they even discovered how easily I fit in the trunk, which opened up more room to actually transport some girls.
I was surprised to encounter one of my classmates already safely stowed away in the trunk with me.
Despite my shortness, I have had the opportunity to kiss tall girls. A tall girl.
She speared me with an impossibly large tongue, like a swollen pimento trying to re-enter the green olive that berthed it.
After speedbagging my uvula, she turned to the bushes and vomited.
If you are a woman you don't know this, but any man, short or tall, feels like one million dollars when his kiss causes vomiting.