At just under five feet six inches tall, I am taller than the average woman in the United States. But I am short.

I am short because I live with a tall person. And let me tell you something about tall people: they love to place things up high. If the choice is between putting something on the top shelf or a middle shelf they will always choose the top shelf. I frequently can’t even see where my tall person has unintentionally hidden these items, and am surprised to learn later that we do, indeed, have Benadryl.*

My husband is so tall–and his arms so long–he can touch the ceiling in our house without even standing on his tiptoes.

Meanwhile, I’ll set off the smoke detector while cooking and can only anxiously wave my little corgi arms at the hush button.

This is what years of living with a tall person has done to me: I now believe that I am a short person. And I am always pleasantly surprised when I stand next to another full-grown adult and can see the top of their head.

“Ah, yes,” I think proudly to myself. “I am a tall corgi!”

*The reverse works in my favor: I keep my stash of Casey Treats on a very low shelf and in ten years he still hasn’t found them.