I don’t know what happened to me, but I became very concerned about myself when I saw this picture: 
I feel as though I have let myself go a bit. I know that most of you think that I am a drop dead hunk, but I think I may have officially given up on life. Think I am lying? Here are the signs:
Crocs. I bought myself some. Even worse, they are the kind that have the fake lamb hair on the inside. (I would call it faux fur, but it’s color and consistency are more deserving of the monicker, “faux panther pubes.”) Double whammy. I have a few friends who wear Crocs regularly, and I have always taken great pleasure in thinking to myself, “At least I’m not THAT bad off.” Actually, I’m worse. I bought a discount brand at CVS and they are called “Doggers.” I think the brand name may even have an exclamation point in it, as if to stress that you should be shouting every time you mention the name. “What kind of shoes are these? Doggers!” They cost $4. Sure they are comfortable, but there really is no louder way to tell the world that I have seceded from the fashion union than plastic shoes (with faux panther pubes inside.) I have promised myself that I would never leave the house in them, but it’s really only a matter of time before they see the light of day and my transformation will be complete.
Stains. I used to have a rule: when a article of clothing got a noticeable stain on the front, it got thrown away. It was a pretty hard and fast rule, resulting in the loss of many of my favorite things to wear. I’m not sure how I got here, but I am now allowed to wear clothes permanently scarred by fatty oils and unwashable paint. In fact, I take pride in my stained clothing, as if giving some sort of hommage to the bacon which coated my greasy little fingers or the dollop of sour cream that escaped ingestion by jumping of the nacho at the last second. I guess my thinking is, “I don’t have to look at the sweatshirt and it’s comfy, so I might as well wear it.” Sad words indeed.
My stomach. I am not hopelessly out of shape. You’ve seen my legs, they’re quite nice. Yet, for all my efforts at exercise (playing basketball with a couple of friends every other week, and regularly pounding down cookies and popcorn with wine late at night) my stomach is growing faster than the ash cloud over Iceland. I have never had a flat stomach, but I at least I have been able to see my feet with regularity. Like that same ash cloud, my toe spying days are slowly dissipating. At the park last week, a very awkward silence ensued when a fellow stay at home parent asked me when we were expecting. Yikes! In my younger days, I would have gotten myself to the gym and trimmed myself into a body shape that didn’t require a waistband. Now and I am cheap, and lame, and wonder weather having a toned stomach would even matter. I mean, I wear Doggers! and and stained sweatshirt for crying out loud. Who cares if I am chubby too!
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DOGGERS! Have no shame! The only reason I don’t wear my crocs outdoors anymore is because every time I would grocery shop in them, I would get shocked over and over again. Otherwise, I consider them the dress shoes of the stay at homer.
You thought it was shocking, just think of what your wife must have thought!
Doggers may just win some kind of prize. I’m with you on the giving up thing–I’m over the vanity–but now it’s like cholesterol and hear attack time you know? You can’t win, really. Meanwhile, I’ve got my running shoes and my Piggly Wiggly “I dig the pig” t-shirt on.
Now I want a “I dig the pig” shirt. Where can I get one?
you need a better hobby than staging pathetic photos while Malcolm’s in school.
I’ll have you know I was not staging pathetic photos while Malcolm was at school. (He was in his room resting.)
Pull yourself together, man! And shave that leg hair!!
You might be onto something. If I shaved my leg hair, I am pretty sure Amy wouldn’t sweat the other stuff…
I don’t see any sweatpants tucked into rainboots here so I think you are ok.
Also, for the stained front of a favorite shirt dilemma, I have one word for you: scarves.
That would be AWESOME!!
Would come in handy as I am scarfing down bacon. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
I thought that’s what the “big” in Big Daddy Paul stood for? No? It can’t mean…
“Big” only refers to my mad rapping skills.
how many times must you be told?
“mad rapping” is NOT the same as “rad mapping”
Hey not just throw a snuggie, or fake snuggie over the whole package and call it quits
Ah yes, the one thing I have going for me. I don’t wear the snuggie.