A romantic relationship between two of wildly different heights has its ups and its downs, if you’ll pardon the pun.
But, at the end of the day, so does every other relationship.
I am 6'7" and my girlfriend … well, Ruby would say she is 5’ and a half inch. I think that’s charitable.
Our height difference is very severe.
So much so I generally keep all my household goods on the higher shelves of the fridge and the cupboards – although this has resulted in my protein bag falling on Ruby’s head no less than four times.
Just this morning I asked Ruby to get me a yoghurt out of the fridge while I was being lazy in bed.
I couldn’t be sure but I could swear I heard the scrape of a chair being dragged into place so she could reach it.
But other than that, really, when we’re in our flat together I don’t really notice the height difference.
I’ve always known Ruby at 5’ and Ruby has always known me as 6’7”. That’s just the way we are.
The only time this situation really changes for me is when I’m ironing or sorting our clothes out.
It’s almost impossible for me to articulate the gargantuan size difference in our wardrobes (both in terms of the individual items themselves and, well, the sheer number of items).
Not too long into our relationship I donated some of Ruby’s clothes to a friend and I made a remark on my return about how small they were – and Ruby was offended.
I had accidentally implied that, perhaps, she wasn’t that small anymore.
I was wrong, of course, she was just as petite as she had ever been but at this stage of our relationship my XL-programmed brain hadn’t realised just how tiny her clothes can be.
In my head, with the scales I am used to operating in - and coming from a family of giraffes (my eldest sister is 6’2”, the other 6’) - these pieces of clothing would fit their childhood dolls.
Back when we began seeing each other our relationship really blossomed with long beachfront walks together in north Wales, where we both lived worked.
Almost every evening we would have a long walk together and tell each other about our lives – catching up on the proceeding 23 years (or 21 in her case).
Reassuringly, despite her stature, I soon discovered Ruby is a brisk walker and could easily keep pace with me, provided I didn’t try to power walk.
It’s when we’re out together on social occasions that our height difference is noticed the most, chiefly because it’s nearly always remarked upon.
It’s par for the course that at 6’7” I'm frequently about my height and, more often than not, if I play basketball.
My standard retort is asking if the questioner plays mini golf.
But when we’re together those questions do become more frequent because standing next to petite Ruby I look like some kind of colossus.
How she doesn’t get a sore neck from having to look up to me all the time I don’t know.
Cute and endearing though it is (and I could not imagine our relationship any other way), it does present some unique challenges.
Chief among them are concerts. Ruby has always and will always be someone who wants to be near the front.
She has to be otherwise she can’t see anything.
For me that isn’t so much of an issue, I’m happy towards the back where it’s much less congested.
And this is where the balancing act in our relationship has to come into its own as one of invariably has to make a sacrifice.
To her credit it is Ruby more often than not.
Although I do my best by offering to put her on my shoulders for parts of every gig – immediately annoying the hundreds behind us no doubt.
The other issue, and it’s a very 21st century one, is selfies. We can’t really take selfies while we’re both stood up.
I have long arms but, facing facts, no one has arms long enough to sufficiently get in roughly half a metre of height difference.
The solution? Getting down on one knee after which we are, approximately, the same height.
Thankfully thus far no bystander has mistook this for the moment of truth but when you’re posing for selfies in romantic locations in Barcelona, on top of the Shard or at San Tropez it is a very real concern.
But if that’s the price I must pay for falling in love with someone almost 50cm shorter than I, it is worth paying.
And no, I don’t play basketball.