Guys! Hey, guys! Ohmigod, guess what? No, seriously, guess. Parachute pants are coming back in style? No. Rudy Giuliani was stuffed into parachute pants and then dropped out of a plane without, ironically, a parachute? I wish! But no.
It’s been proven by science! And by “science” I mean “a board game,” which is just like science because it has rules and a lot of people fight over it.
I’ve sometimes suspected I might be hot. August 7, 1983, I thought I was hot, because of the Adidas shorts and the gym socks. Then there was that time that girl was leering at me in Tim Hortons but it turned out she was only ogling my cruller. Thursdays between 2:34 and 2:36 pm, like clockwork, I think I’m hot.
I admit there have been times when I’ve wondered whether I’ve passed the age of being potentially hot, but then I remember that I’m not a woman and am allowed to be hot well into my sixties or even my Sean Conneries.
Still, I’ve never known for sure. But now I do. Thanks to my daughter.
That sounds weird: thanks to my daughter’s friends.
My middle daughter Katie was playing a game with her girlfriends on Sunday. “Girls’ Night” or “Get Out of Here, Stupid Y Chromosome!” or something like that. I don’t know the rules (if I knew the rules, I would turn into a girl; that’s how it works: science), but apparently one of the players drew a card that said, “Give this card to whoever has the hottest dad.” So she gave it to Katie.
Facts, folks! I don’t make up the rules. (A girl did.)
Normally, I wouldn’t bring any of this up. As regular readers know, I am the most modest extremely talented writer around. But now that a board game—and my daughter’s friend!—has confirmed that I am the hottest dad in all the land, I need to know what to do with that information. As they say, with great cheekbones comes great responsibility.
Am I an influencer now? Do I quit my job and focus on posing with various objects on Instagram with my grizzled—er, I mean my chiseled good looks? What exactly do I influence? Stock market prices? The tides? The public’s continued tolerance for Scott Baio?
Should I start a YouTube channel? I could call it “The One Where Ross From ‘Friends’ Isn’t The Only Hot Ross Anymore” or” TOWRFFITOHRSA” for short.
Do I use my hotness for a better society? Or for better tables at restaurants? Remember restaurants?
I didn’t go into the details with Katie because she was already feeling plenty nauseated by the whole ordeal, but I assume my hotness is how I look currently and not “if he put on some weight, worked out, got a proper haircut, took better care of his skin, didn’t frown so much, took off the glasses, did something about those moles, maybe worked on his personality, something something something his nose” hot. In other words, I can keep wearing droopy-butt Wrangler jeans, right?
Who knew being hot came with so many questions? Beyoncé. Beyoncé would know about the questions.
Oh, I should probably mention that Katie was playing with only two other women, and therefore one of the women had to give the card away (unless she thought her own dad was hot, which is weirder than the weirdness that this game already is). In other words, I was hot first place in a field of two.
I can’t tell you what the other dad looked like. Maybe he was, you know, sort of hot but had one of those rogue hairs growing out of the middle of his forehead, whereas I hardly ever have those.
Or maybe he looked like a Steve Buscemi action figure partly melted in a microwave.
(Aww, that wasn’t very nice; I have nothing against action figures.)
Or maybe the other dad was a werewolf, because that happens sometimes, and they are not hot! Too much back hair.
Anyway, what’s important here is that the board game said I’m hot, even if it was just because my daughter’s friend, forced to pick between two gross old men/wolfmen, shrugged her shoulders and with a grimace said, “Katie’s dad I guess?”
Listen, man, I don’t care. I’m hot. And that’s going in my LinkedIn profile.