The “dadbod”. Its illogical to think of it as a preference based on looks alone. When a chiseled hunk of a Greek god lookalike walks by, there isn’t an ovary left standing that isn’t rendered twisted and achy, nor a male ego left devoid of envy. But, in most peoples lives, a Greek god is an anomaly. Sadly, the norm consists of a few beaten up old retreads that found the gym as part of an “awakening” (due to a failed marriage) or a former high school jock (physical therapy major drop out) trying to hold on to a few more, hardly glorious, Friday  nights. The reality is that most of us are, or are surrounded by shapely men and women resembling the fruit in most baskets. Round, or a derivative there of, and on the verge of being thrown out.

Along came the dadbod. Without boring you of its overly exaggerated appeal, I instead will explain to you the logic in the acceptance of the dadbod. There is an old adage that goes something like : “its better to be the big fish in a small pond, than the small fish in the big pond”. We can debate this till the next great flood, but ultimately the argument I make is that I have a better chance of surviving, and even prospering in a small pond. Reality is i might struggle greatly and may not even survive in a big pond filled with bigger fish.

I have applied this analogy and have concluded that I prefer to be the not-so-grotesquely fat, on the verge of flabby, yet somewhat deceptively presentable dadbod guy amongst a field of fat farm contestants. The alternative of being the lone fat guy in a gym filled with insecure, testosterone filled dudes that can play the keys to piano man on their pectorals, is somewhat less appealing to me.

So, full bodied beer in hand, I salute you from afar for being a sad and hypernourished, dedicated craftsman of physique. I, instead, shall now happily feast on my tenderloin of joy.