Dad bods

Being a good father is about more than raising your children. There are certain standards that need to be upheld, images that need to be maintained. Sure, any rapscallion can be a father, but only the elite few can be a “dad.” I’m talking about the kind of dads that hang on the front lawn, drinking beers and doing what they want until their wife gets home. I am one of those original dads. I am the forefather, the well from which all other dads spring forth. I may not be the best parent, but my imperfections cement my place in history. With my dad bod I ride, blazing a trail for future generations.

That’s right, I rock the dad bod. That casual shapeliness, the layer of fat that acts as protection for my midsection, and willingness to let it all hang out are not only the foundation for future heart attacks. No, these are all the trappings of dad bods, the hot new trend that is driving women literally insane. That my years of general self-neglect are finally being admired should be a triumphant moment, but I can’t help but be devastated.

Look, I’m glad my countercultural views on fashion and human sexuality are finally being rewarded by the mainstream. But it feels a lot like sending your kids to college. Something that I have lived with for 18 years has finally plunged forth into the world. Of course, I’m not talking about my actual kids. But this dad bod bird has finally left the dad bod nest.

Fly on, little bird. Fly on.

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