Maybe it's because I, myself, am small—tiny, if you will. I'm five feet tall. Arms stretched out to my sides, I estimate that I am about five feet wide. In my tiny house fantasy, I live alone. Everything in the house is designed for me. Rarely would I need a stool to reach what I need. Doorknobs, cabinets, faucets, mirrors, the toilet—all at precisely the right height for me, and no one else.
I like this one by Tumbleweed Houses. It's 251 square feet. That's approximately 8 times the square footage of the guinea pig condo (not a cage!) that Mark built for Dom and Koko. Everything is big in suburbia.
My love of tiny houses extends beyond my physical stature. Who needs 2,500 square feet to heat, cool, and clean? But that's pretty much the minium size around here. I'd love to take a typical 1.5 acre lot and plop down a Loring. People would be baffled.
I'm waiting for Tumbleweed to post pictures of the inside. In the meantime I will decorate it in my mind.