You are a veritable giant, and you lose. I am 1" tall. That’s one inch, not one foot. If I use my elevator insoles, 1.01". I am typing this via a unique system developed in the jungles of Africa (actually, in the wilds of Chicago by a dude maned Ed). I swing, Tarzan style, from key to key via a series of strategically placed threads (cables, to me) hanging from the ceiling above the keyboard. From any key (not just the any key) I can reach a thread in any of four directions. Picking the appropriate thread, I then adjudge the velocity needed to reach the next letter, number or punctuation mark and jump. Sometimes this requires planning ahead, as multiple threads may be necessary to reach the next key. Also, windage from the AC or updrafts from the heater must be factored in. To start a sentence or type a proper name I must first swing to the “caps lock” key, then the desired letter, then back to “caps lock”. Parenthetical remarks are no fun either - “caps lock” 9 “caps lock” type type “caps lock” 0 “caps lock”. Capitalization and punctuation are the second biggest pains of my existence. The biggest occurs when the swinging threads get tangled and leave me stranded on a letter. My dedicated and delightful wife, who is 18’ 6 3/4" tall, combs the threads often, mitigating the problem immensely. I really don’t know what I would do without her.
I know the pervs among you are wondering how, considering the 18’ 5 3/4" height difference, how we could ever have children. Without getting too personal, I’ll allow that it involves, for me, quite a hike in a crotchless scuba suit, a flashlight and laminated adult reading material.
Where’s my trophy?