A few years ago I was having a drink with friends, including one who was dating a guy she had met online. Eventually she took me aside and asked me a question.

'How tall are you?' she said.

'I am exactly 6-feet tall,' I replied.

'How tall would you say my boyfriend is?'

I eyeballed the man standing a few feet away. '5-8. Maybe 5-9,' I replied.

She frowned. 'He says that he's 6-feet tall.'

'Did he also tell you that he has hair?'

All my life I have been dealing with guys who lie about their height. Deep down inside, every man wants to be 6-feet tall, even though the national average is 5-10. For men, it is like being a millionaire; it is a club to which a man simply must belong. Lying about one's height, even when there is no chance of getting away with it, is a male thing. Like most male things, it is stupid.

When I was a little kid, the only thing I wanted was to be 6-feet tall. I was convinced that if I was six feet tall, people would leave me alone. I reached that height in my late teens and abruptly, as if on cue, the thugs, punks and bullies who had terrorized me all through high school called off the dogs. Forever. Thugs, punks and bullies always take the path of least resistance, preying on the weak, the elderly, the distaff and the short. They particularly like thin, female octogenarian dwarfs. Preferably blind.

One cautionary word about height: It's important not to get greedy. Be satisfied to stand 6-feet tall, rather that 6-3 or 6-4. I have it on solid authority from close, taller friends that if you are unusually tall, somebody with a Napoleonic complex will eventually take a swing at you. Just to prove something. But if you are 6-feet tall, they will leave you alone.

Men know this. They know that being 6-feet tall puts you in the company of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood, men who were always left alone. So they lie about their height. The problem is, in order for them to lie about their height in a convincing fashion they must induce you to lie about your height as well.

'You must go about six-two, six-three, right?' men 3 inches shorter than me like to say.

'No, I am exactly 6-feet tall,' I reply.

'No, I think you must be taller than that,' they insist.

'I'm 6-feet tall and I am exactly 6-feet tall,' I respond. 'I can go get a tape measure if you like.'

There are all sorts of things you can lie about with impunity. You can lie about your income or your military service or having seen Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock. Assertions like this are too hard to verify, much less disprove, so you can usually get away with even the most bold-faced lies.

No one is going to check to see if you really went to the Sorbonne or lost in the final rounds of a Quebec spelling bee because you misspelled 'cauchemardesque.'

No one is going to check to see if you once decked the editor of Details with a single punch. Nor is anyone likely to check if you say that you once worked as an intern for Mike Huckabee or grew up in the same neighborhood as Trent Reznor.

But you can't lie about your height. Height is scientifically verifiable. Those of us who are authentically, certifiably 6-feet tall will call you out on it. We are not letting you into our club. It's nothing personal. It's just the way things are.

A while back, during a medical exam, the physicianassistant told me that I was 6-foot-1. This was impossible. It would mean that I had grown an inch since my 50th birthday. Things like that do not happen on this planet.

Worse, it would mean that all the 5-foot-11 men I had accused of lying about their height had been telling the truth. So I would have to apologize to them.

'How tall are you?' I asked the man.

'Six feet,' he replied, drawing himself up to his full 70 inches.