My wife's cousin has fallen in love. That should be a good thing, right? She's an intelligent, funny, 25-year-old who typifies a new generation of confident, highly educated young Chinese women who know what they want and aren't afraid to go after it.
Her boyfriend manages a mobile phone shop and, like her, has a university degree. He makes her laugh, treats her well and displays the sort of gentlemanly qualities you thought were the sole preserve of Cary Grant.
When they're together, they look like two peas in a pod, beaming from ear to ear. In short, they fit.
So what's the problem? Well, he's short. Not in her eyes. In fact, he's about the same height as she is: 1.6 metres. It's never been an issue for her.
But it's a big problem for her family. And, in traditional Chinese families, that makes it a big problem for her, too.
'Even if you're buying apples in a supermarket, you choose a big one,' grumbles her father, who has refused point blank to let the poor soul darken his doorway. 'I looked out the window and I could hardly see him,' he says. For the record, dad stands less than 8cm taller than his daughter's hapless suitor. But those 8cm appear to be terribly important.
Her 79-year-old grandmother (she's been 79 for the past three years and single-handedly keeps Beijing's hair dye industry in the black) is even worse.