I ♥ YA because You are Deliciously Tall

Here I am in the kitchen trying to make dinner, but I need the jar of Ragu on the top shelf of our absurdly tall cabinets. Because he’s got the appetite of a crash of pachyderms, my nineteen-year old is sniffing around the pantry asking, “What’s for dinner.”


“Nothing,” I say, “unless you’ll be kind enough to get me the spaghetti sauce.” I point to the jar, he reaches his long tapered fingers, attached to long sinewy arms set high on his 6’1” frame and hands me the jar like it’s nothing. He doesn’t even have to stand on his tiptoes. It’s as effortless as blinking for him. If he and his tallness weren’t there, I’d have to drag the step stool over, climb up two or three steps, grab the jar, navigate my way back down the stepstool without breaking the jar, set the jar on the counter, and move the stool out of my way since the particular cabinet where the sauce is stored is next to the stove where I’ll be cooking. See how his tallness helps?’
And, as an added bonus, while he’s standing here looking pleased with himself, I borrow his muscles to open the lid!
Be warned. These benefits of having a YA in the house do come at a price:
First, we’ve spent significantly more than the GDP of many countries to keep this particular YA and his siblings fed over the years—that money has paid for all the tallness and muscles. Second, by having him help me, my body is atrophying…my muscles are getting softer, my hips are getting bigger, and I expect I’m shrinking too.
Still, one reason I love it that you are deliciously tall!

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