Big Daddy

I went to the swimming pool with my wife and kids this afternoon. It's the Fourth of July, so I thought it'd be nice. It's also 162 degrees outside, so I thought it'd be... refreshing.

We walked in the gate and every head turned our way. The kids looked so cute, loaded down with towels and floaties and goggles and Sponge Bob innertubes. My wife - who has been coming to the pool every day for seven weeks - looked amazing and tan and put-together... like she belonged in a loungechair, limp-wristingly holding an umbrella drink.

I brought in the rear... And the dimply love handles. And the man-breasts. And the hair-covered mayonaise gut.

What a nightmare. It was all I could do to take off my shirt. I was so frazzled, I jumped in the pool wearing flip-flops. I still had the car keys in my hand, for goodness sakes. All of the other dads sat on the edge of the pool and talked confidently with one another. I stood on my knees in the 3-foot area, pretending to play with my son.

I made my six-year-old bring me a towel when it was time to leave. She met me on the third step holding the towel like a big Mickey Mouse curtain so no one could see her fatty... I mean... daddy.

I got home this afternoon and watched everyone eat an ice cream sandwich. Tonight, I am am going to watch them eat hamburgers and hot dogs. Tomorrow, I'm going to start jogging. And next Fouth of July, I am going to sit on the edge of the pool.