With Good Posture

Hanna: “Remind me again why we have clinical hospital equipment set up next to the living room bookshelf?”

Mimi: (sliding the caliper down with deep, dramatic concentration) “Lena (X3rr4) had it couriered over this morning with express shipping. Apparently the DMs were about three messages away from an all-out civil war over your exact proportions, so she decided world peace required verifiable data.”

Hanna: “Empirical science. Wonderful. Well? What does the verdict say?”

Mimi: (squinting at the millimeter notches) “Hold still, don't puff up your hair... Okay. Drumroll, please... Exactly five-foot-six (167,5 cm).”

Hanna: “Ha! See? Perfectly tall. Dignified, statuesque, athletic...”

Mimi: “Hanna, your shirt literally says DREAM BIG in neon letters, and you’re celebrating the exact national average.”

Hanna: “Five-foot-six is not just average. With good posture, that’s basically five-foot-eight!”

Mr. Beans: (from the floor, delivering a long, heavy, unblinking glare that radiates pure feline skepticism)

Mimi: “See? Don’t look at me, negotiate with Beans. He’s already measuring you in cans of tuna, and he’s unimpressed.”

Hanna: “Beans thinks anyone who doesn’t fit under the coffee table is a giant. His opinion is disqualified.”

Mr. Beans: (lets out one flat, judgment-laden meow and licks his paw, closing the debate)