Dear Proud Dad Bod,
I gave you a shout out in my first article about the kinds of people you meet at college, but it seems the crowd demands a more in-depth look at who you really are. While I don’t necessarily look forward to exploring your inner-psyche, I’ll acquiesce in the name of journalism.
I suppose I should clarify and say, it’s not just the “Dad Bod” type. This also encompasses Frat Daddies and anyone else who might say “it’s not the grades you make, it’s the hands you shake” repetitively.
First and foremost, it’s important to note most guys that aren’t you don’t actually like you. As my twin brother so eloquently put it: “What the hell is this ‘dad bod’ thing? Do girls actually like that? I mean you work out your whole life at the gym and now they tell me I could have been a fat ass the whole time?!”
But, let me be clear, it’s not about your looks. I really couldn’t care less if you’ve got a beer belly that protrudes massively. If you love your bod, then hey, more power to you. I’m all for the body-positivity movement. No, your body is yours, destroy it how you wish.
I’ll be honest, the nonchalance you waltz through life with kills me. For example, you take pride in “ripping a pack of cigs.” Honestly? Like, yes, please, brag about your addiction that will someday inevitably lead to your demise, I’m dying to hear more (excuse the pun). Honestly, though, I’m not impressed by your ability to chug a fifth of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey (I’ve learned that’s the only acceptable brand of whiskey). I’m actually more concerned for your liver.
To put it simply, you’re ridiculous. Your antics—whether it’s blacking out and demanding someone ask you to a date event or saying “why not both?” when someone asks “whiskey or vodka?”—consistently make me pause and wonder just how it is possible for someone like you to exist.
However, I’ll give you this. Your jokes, though often mediocre, can SOMETIMES coax a laugh out of me. Let me reiterate—sometimes. When you repeatedly get on tables, demand everyone’s attention, and then launch into a speech on-the-fly, I literally can’t help but laugh. You’ve got balls, that’s for sure. And I do admire how you couldn’t care less about what everyone thinks. You’re so comfortable in your skin perhaps I could take a lesson or two from you.
All jokes aside, I appreciate you, Dad Bod. I do. There’s no one I’d rather watch black out than you. You provide endless entertainment and the best stories. Just in the future, maybe, do less.
