Abby has been bugging the crap out of me lately because she's SO SURE she's taller than me, and takes every opportunity to invade my personal space to compare our heights. She's tall, I'll give her that, but is she taller than me? Um, no.
Look, I have been 6-feet plus since college. That's when I got my growth spurt. Although I was the tallest girl in my graduating high school class, now that I think about it. I always though that 5'11" would be the perfect height, because you're tall but not THAT tall, but alas, it was not meant to be.
Yesterday Abby had Eric get a tape measure to prove once and for all that she's surpassed my vertical limits, and he did one better because he got a tape measure and a level, so he could be sure we were standing straight, I guess. He's kind of a perfectionist. Moving on. So Abby goes and she's:
Five feet, 11 5/8 inches.
Then I go because sometimes I get competitive about weird things like height. And I am:
Five feet, 11 3/4 inches.
What does 5/8s even mean? Who cares, I win! I won't lie, I totally did a victory dance when we realized I'm still the tallest girl in this house. And then Abby was all, I guess it's not that I'm growing, it's just that you're shrinking, which kind of put a damper on my dance moves.
Because. I've spent most of my adult life with "six plus feet" as a big part of my identity. I'm that tall girl. Add to that the realization that shrinking happens as you get older, which clearly means I'm older.
But then I'm all, I've always wanted to be 5'11"!, and it's kind of cool that I've finally gotten my wish.
So I'm kind of conflicted is what I'm saying.
Ah, well. The end.