I love my father. I inherited his height. Being a woman and over six feet tall makes me definitely look like his side of the family.
My husband, while not short, isn’t as tall as I am.
After we were first married, we did laundry at my parents’ place. We were on our way up North (something my father definitely didn’t like). Anyway, my dad called me into the laundry room with a frown on his face. He was holding a pair of blue jeans.
“Baby,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I think we shrank a pair of your jeans.”
“No, Dad,” I replied. And I let him know that those jeans belonged to my husband.
Dad gave a whistle and then said, “Well, honey, your husband’s a good man, but I think that boy was picked when he was green!”