Caitlin walks in, and asked what the heck I was doing.

I decided to be honest.

“Daddee’s looking at the lines on my body**”.

“Lines? What lines?”

“These lines” point at the curved lines beneath what used to be spectacular pecs*. “Daddee’s getting fat.”

Now she is telling people she doesn’t wanna eat so much because she doesn’t wanna get fat- “Otherwise I will get lines on my body like Daddee…”

Yeah thanks kiddo.

* Okay I exaggerate.

** The lines look like bra-underwire marks on my body now- this, I am not exaggerating. I will spare you the photos lest you cannot look at me in the face the next time we meet…. or vice versa.

It’s a combo of gravity, fat, and the lack of youth.

I am in trouble now….

I also wore a ribbed polo shirt. Fitting but not tight. Quite a dressy one.

In the car I was in the backseat, with Caitlin on my lap; Hot Mummee was driving.

Caitlin feels my torso, and says, “Daddee, it feels like you have a float here…” poking at it; “Hee hee..”

Due to the conservation of mass, the Dockers was squeezing the mass up and out and over my belt; which was there only to prevent the button from popping, actually.

While I already knew of this, I know I am in real trouble now.