Kiss My Dad Butt

Girls are into the dad bod? Right. That’s like guys saying they’re into naturally saggy boobs, saddlebags, and cellulite. Being into something is different than tolerating it. If you’re into it, you’re implying you prefer it. No woman prefers a beer belly and man tits.

I can understand if the angle is that the woman doesn’t mind her man a bit doughy, so she can spend less time eating lawn on the Stairmaster. I get that. Nor do I want to date a woman with abs and ripped calves. That woman would raise an eyebrow as I raise a fork full of rigatoni. Then, I’d have to add more Parmesan and order a cannoli, just to assert my non-fuck-givery.

If you’re in a relationship with a dad-bod guy, and he suddenly does a juice cleanse, begins wearing expensive cologne, and trims his ball hair for the first time in months, does that impress you? It shouldn’t, because he’s probably doing it for someone other than you.

I’ve gotten thicker and saggier over the years. I don’t enjoy seeing only the end-half my wiener, or watching my man-chest bounce as I jog. That pisses me off to an extent—not to the extent that I’m willing to make a lifestyle change. But, I’m not going to justify my sloppiness by pointing to a silly article by a woman (who was probably held at gunpoint) about how she’s into the dad bod. Nay. I’m this way because I’m old, and the reward for having abs is not worth the effort it would take for a 53-year-old drunk with a sweet tooth to get them.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we all look similar, naked, lying on our backs … in dim lighting … after a few drinks. My second-trimester gut flattens out as I recline. Granted, it doesn’t migrate to my armpits like natural old boobs do, but I do become more pear-ish. You like pears? Ah, I like you.

Actors like Seth Rogan, Louis CK, and Will Ferrell have graced (sic) our movie screens with their naked pudginess. So, that makes it OK? A few women say, “Aw, isn’t he cute?,” and next thing we know there’s a hotel pool full of belly-scratching dads carrying pool noodles and Budweiser.

Note that when Lena Dunham (her Chubbiness) flaunts her naked knobs in Girls, no man says, “Aw, how cute,”—not even those of us with dad bods. The typical man would say, “Ew, yuck. What the fuck? Why couldn’t you show me Marnie’s ass? God damn it. Can’t un-see that shit. Now I need an eye enema.”

Just like there are men (of all colors, and one more often than others) who will absolutely have sex with a mom bod, there are women who will bed Homer. They’ll do it, but they won’t prefer it. If they were honest, they’d admit that the fit version of Homer is more fun to bounce upon. But no, we can’t hurt anyone’s poor wittle feewings.

Women are partly responsible for the dad bod, too. If you’re cooking bacon and carbs and stocking the shelves with kettle-cooked chips, you are responsible for building the dad bod. Now, bring Buddha an Oreo, and tell me how much you love my dad bod.

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.

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