“Hey, Myth, would you mind slowing down a little?”
Another day had passed. Myth and I were getting along quite well. She was not a chatterbox exactly. But that was probably a good thing, because I was one…
I heard that, Mister. You just muttered, “Was one,” in such a manner as to suggest that I am still a chatterbox. Well, I suppose you are right. But you did not have to say it like that. Being a chatterbox is not a bad thing, after all…
Okay. Since you apologized, I will forgive you. Anyway…
Two chatterboxes chattering away at the same time can cause problems. That was not an issue for Myth and me. I did most of the talking. But Myth held up her end of our conversations. And do you know what? I was really beginning to like her as a person, not simply because she was an elf.
“What’s the matter, Iz,” said Myth as she slowed her pace. “Having trouble keeping up?”
I huffed. “Well, my short, useless legs cannot match the stride your long legs make.”
...Do not worry, Mister. I am not going to go on and on about Myth’s legs. I have had a bit of a think about that, actually. Myth would feel uncomfortable if I talked about her legs so freely, especially since she has never met you. So I am not going to do that, even though she is not here. The last thing I want to do is to cause Myth to feel embarrassed. Now, let’s get back to my story…
Myth laughed and said, “And that concerns me how, exactly?
“Not everyone is a giant like you are, Missy. You should keep that in mind when you go trampling through the countryside. You might flatten people otherwise.”
“Oh. So I’m a giant, am I? Maybe you’re just short.”
“I’m a perfectly normal height, thank you very much, Miss Humongous.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am too a perfectly normal height. I’m five feet tall.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really”
“Have you ever measured yourself to verify that?”
“I don’t need to measure myself to know that I am five feet tall.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
“It’s just… I’m a bit over six feet tall, and I’d swear you’re more than a foot shorter than I am.”
I gripped Myth’s arm and tugged on it until she halted.
“Hey!” said Myth as she turned to face me. “Izzy, what are you doing?”
Placing my hands on my hips, I said, “Now you listen up, Missy. I’m five feet tall, and I don’t want to hear any argument otherwise. Understand?”
Myth chuckled. Then she smiled at me. Oh! That smile. I wish you could see it.
Shrugging her shoulders, Myth said, “Very well, Iz. Never again shall I impugn your height’s reputation. And I beg your forgiveness for having done so. It shames me that I behaved like such a brute. You are five feet tall as far as I am concerned.”
“Good,” I said, smiling. “I’m glad that’s sorted. Shall we carry on?”
Side-by-side, we resumed our walk.
After we had walked about ten yards, I said, “I am five feet tall. Really, I am.”
“I know you are, Iz,” said Myth. “But you’re still short.”
I punched her arm gently.
… Do not look at me like that, Mister. You are trying to work out whether or not I am five feet tall. Take your cue from Myth. After that talk, she never disputed my height again. She realized that being five feet tall was important to me. Even at that early stage in our relationship, my happiness mattered more to her than her being right did. Not that she was right. I am five feet tall. And that is that.