It’s Not a Dad Bod

A father figure takes years to develop. You begin with the occasional slice of birthday cake. Then come the family cookouts, the holiday dinners, and the necessary duty of finishing food nobody wants to put back in the refrigerator.

Soon your favorite chair fits you better than your favorite trousers.

I could blame the kids, but that would be unfair. They didn’t make me take the last biscuit. I did that on my own initiative.

Besides, I have other qualifications for the title. I know how to ask whether the thermostat needs to be set that high. I can tell when a car makes a noise it didn’t make yesterday. And I have a collection of jokes my family claims to hate but can repeat word for word.

That’s a father figure with some substance to him.

The Old Curmudgeon

PS: If there’s one biscuit left, I’m still interested.