“That’s a Dealbreaker, Ladies!”—a phrase I heard in this season’s last episode of my (second) favorite TV show 30 Rock. The show’s protagonist, Liz Lemon, a sarcastic, quirky TV producer, coined the phrase as a funny way to call out ladies making excuses for the bad qualities in their men.

Dealbreakers are typically face tattoos, any size collection of beanie babies, and a compulsive need to get naked at 3:00 p.m. everyday. But even the nicest of guys have “dealbrekaers” through no fault of their own.

I’m not talking about the less-than-appealing site of back hair (removable) or the sleep-depriving sound or snoring (usually fixable, but if not—dealbreaker) or a bad case of ketosis (awkward to address but fixable). I’m talking about a man’s height.

I’ve seen more than a few cases of couples perfect for each other but went nowhere because the woman can’t get over the fact the guy is two inches shorter than she. When I discussed the issue with them, it usually came down to one thing: feeling like a girl. We want to look up into his eyes, not down into them.

Dating a guy shorter than you has other ill side effects other than you questioning your femininity. Not only your posture suffers, but your shoe collection grows to consist mostly of flats, and you look at your friend’s high heels like you look at the skinny girl with the high metabolism gorging on ice cream. B*@#%….

Actually, we women typically stick together on this issue like an unwritten code known and agreed amongst us. For example, the other day my friend told me she wanted to introduce me to this guy she met a few weeks ago.

“Coolio. Do you happen to know what he does?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure what he does, and I can’t really remember how tall he is, but he’s funny, and I thought of you when I was talking to him.”

Huh, I snickered in my head at that comment. I never asked about his height, but my friend instinctively knew to relay that vital piece of information before I took her suggestion too seriously. 

You must be thinking, “Jenny, are you really in position to be this picky?” For a little while longer, as I don’t have crow’s feet, yes. I can be picky.

Yet every once in awhile I give in and go out with a 5’7er. And even though I give it my best effort wearing my thinnest-soled shoes, the only thing I can think about during dinner is if I have a larger foot than he.

But regardless of our intentions, our attractions are dialed into our genetics. We instinctively seek after another’s genetics we’d want to share with ours and pass onto our kin. I reminded this to my parents the last time I told my parents he was too short and they told me I was too picky.

“Do you want your grandkids limited to sports like gymnastics and horse racing?”

“Okay,” my sports-driven father says “That’s a dealbreaker.”