Tall people don’t get short people. N now has a standing desk and he very casually suggested that I use his computer to print something out. He doesn’t seem to be aware that I literally don’t see the screen from my height because it towers way up in the air over my head.
He also keeps placing his power bars and my Tupperware in places where I have to jump up and down like a crazy bunny trying to grab them.
“You exercising, Mommy?” Klara asks when she sees me do it. “You an athlete? Want to do yoga with me?”
I know she’s too young for snark but it still feels hurtful.
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