I am more on the bad genetic side with a no man’s land height of 171cm.

However, my pencil is of high quality (~15cm default and extendible up to 25cm depending on my mood) so much that John Wick can use it as his weapon anytime.

But here is the problem. No one other than me knows about its existence because girls who I date on the apps typically shun me when they see my height. You know, young ladies these days… are more choosy with height and they themselves are mostly 170cm or above, contrary to the fake disgusting stats on website (160cm).

It is hard for someone like me born in the early 90s to find shorter girls as they are mostly taken by guys like you. Thus, there is no way I can find my future special one to illustrate my potential, my golden pencil.

What is the point of having a good tool when you are short and no one notices you? Likewise it must be pretty sucky for a tall guy like you to have a good height yet with a small tool. But hey, at least you experienced doing the deed, unlike me, evergreen for life.

End of the day, I feel it is better to be a tall guy with a short pencil than short guy with a useless long pencil. I feel like I got shot in the arms, heart left right centre. It is a more terrible feeling seeing so many girls with tall attached guys everywhere I go, holding hands on streets and here I am stuck in this abyss of loneliness and dwarfism.

You have a very good height so please at least be satisfied. I believe height is more important to girls than your pencil. You had it better than me…..

My wife is absurdly funny, attractive and interesting. I have no idea why she stays with me.

Been with my wife 20 years. Best decision I ever made was marrying her. She’s funny, interesting and a complete smoke show.

When I introduce people to my wife, their immediate reaction is surprise and confusion.

I am nothing special. I do contract work, and my employment is rarely stable. I’m not interesting. I’m not super emotionally stable either.

But here we are. We got married young and had three kids. We still go out for beers every Friday together.

I only have enough money in the bank to sustain us for three months, and I’m actively pitching for projects I’m not sure will come through. I am losing my hair and I have a spare tire.

And she’s still here. It’s incredible and baffling and the same time.

That’s all I wanted to get off my chest today.

Netizens’ comments

The way you accept all these things about you, shows that you’re an extremely humble person, though I’m sure it’s very nice to be around you. You make her feel good. That’s what matters. Cheers, mate. I’d share a drink with you.

I used to be cool. I rode bikes, went rock climbing, backpacking on multi-week long trips, took surfing lessons, kite surfed all over the world. I saved money and quit my job and travelled for a couple years. I spent a year traveling. I can wakeboard, wake skate, roller skate. I read books all the time, I know the basics of physics and philosophy and history. I loved to learn new things and write about them. I liked to paint and create art. I was so committed to LIVING in my twenties. I was really cool. I mountain biked and hiked. I was never awesome at anything but I liked trying new things and doing stuff. I think I was kind and thoughtful. I tried to be.

I wasn’t ever trying to find myself or anything like that, I was just hungry to taste as much of the world as I could. I used to work in a nursing home and I was scared to get old and sick without knowing what it felt like to raft the Zambezi or hike to Macchu Picchu or ride across the Mongolian steppe or drink tea in the Himalayas. I listened to the regrets of the elderly all day and I didn’t want to have any so I threw myself into the world. I think I was cool, I think that I was cool for me.

I was pretty too. Not a stunner or anything but I was pretty enough that people were usually a little extra nice to me. I was approachable pretty. Men used to ask for my number regularly. I felt happy about how I looked. I never felt like a bomb shell but I never felt bad or insecure about my looks.

Then I got back after the traveling and I was thirty and my husband wanted kids and I agreed. I had two in the next couple years. They’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And now my youngest is a year and I’m forty five pounds overweight and I have stretch marks on my stomach and my chest is lopsided and pendulous and my skin is horrible and I never sleep or read or do anything that I used to enjoy and haven’t for nearly 5 years now. I broke my foot badly so I’ll never be running again.

I’m not cool anymore. I don’t like to go out and do things and I’ve developed some kind of germ phobia. The same person who ate street food insects. I try to be a good mom. I don’t know if I am. I’m not pretty. I think women of all shapes and sizes are beautiful and I love seeing and supporting women who love themselves but I don’t feel like that about myself anymore. He isn’t attracted to me anymore. And now that my body is trash and I have no hobbies and am boring and anxiety ridden my husband wants a divorce. Fuck. I’ll never make enough alone to buy a house here. I’m too embarrassed of myself to ever date again.

My kids will never know I was cool and fun and I don’t think I ever will be again.