That’s how I met Robert.
He was 76, a widower, polite, and incredibly thoughtful.
For two weeks, we talked every evening. He asked about my life, listened to stories about my late husband, and never once joked about my height.
Finally, he invited me to dinner.
But the day before our date, he made a strange request.
“Mary, could you wear your highest heels tomorrow?”
I laughed.
“Robert, I’m already over six and a half feet tall! Why on earth would you want me to wear heels?”
“Please,” he replied. “I’ll explain someday.”
The following evening, I arrived at the restaurant wearing a blue dress and four-inch heels.
Robert was waiting near the entrance.
He was almost 16 inches shorter than me.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up strangely.
“Just like that…” he whispered.
We sat at a table near the window.
Throughout dinner, Robert kept nervously checking his watch and glancing at my shoes.
Finally, he said,
“Mary, would you mind standing by the window for a moment?”
“Why?”
“I want to see you standing at your full height.”
Reluctantly, I stood up.
Robert stared at me for several seconds. Then his face suddenly turned pale.
“Oh my God… It really is you.”
“What are you talking about?”
He was about to answer when he glanced outside.
