The best news last week didn't come from Washington, DC where the unemployment rate has dropped to 5.4 percent.
It didn't come from Wall Street, where the Dow hit new highs and the NASDAQ soared above 5000 again.
The best news came from Century City, or more accurately, a Public Relations firm in Century City, who have officially heralded us into the age of the "Dad Bod."
I'm sure you have all heard about this. The Dad Bod is clever spin. Spun to cover up the deteriorating physiques of aging Hollywood heartthrobs, like Leonardo de Caprio.
Apparently, and the PR firm didn't provide much in the way of evidence, women are yearning for a pear-shaped man with flabby biceps and one pack abs. A man who feels less at home with kale and protein shakes and more at home at Baskin & Robbins. Or Dave & Busters. Or at Pizza Hut or Taco Bell.
Or even better, at the Pizza Hut/Taco Bell Combination store -- yes, that's a real thing.
In any case, I'm glad this phenomena is finally coming around. But I hope Dad Bod seeking women will be more discerning.
Sure, you could go for one of these Dad Bod Newcomers who isn't quite comfortable in his newly stretched skin or relaxed fit jeans.
Or, you can opt for a man who's been rocking the Dad Bod since the day he was born, 44 years ago.
Mind you, it hasn't been continuous.
There was a short obsessive compulsive period when I was somewhat blubber-free. When the completion of one Olympic-length triathlon rolled right into the immediate preparation for the next. A time when my pantry was stocked with nothing but protein, protein shakes and ill-conceived protein supplements, like Ornithine, Creatine and Lysine. It was during those misguided years when I flirted with a BMI in the low 20's and barely tipped the scales at 172, wet.
But those days of 31 inch waists and body-clinging ribbed T-shirts are long gone.
I'm not back to full Dad Bod form. Yet. But I am confident if I return to carbohydrates, triple my beer intake and ease up on the swimming, hiking, elliptical stepping and biking, I can get myself in tip top Dad Bod shape.
But the news for you ladies gets even better. Because after 23 years of marriage, my wife has given me permission to "go off the reservation." I think it might have been an early Father's Day Gift.
"Hey if you can convince one of those young women in their mid twenties at the office or the gym to go for this (pointing at my almost-completed Dad Bod), you have yourself a jolly good time."
My wife might have been speaking in Sarcasm, the native language at the Siegel household.
But if she wasn't, I can only hope this publicly-broadcast open invitation does not crash the Internet.
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