Dear Old Guy With Glorious Beer Belly,

I’m a little nervous writing this letter, as I’m pretty sure you are my hero.

Other people that saw you on the beach that day might have made fun of you. They might have said, “check it out, that guy’s shirt got stuck on his man-tits!” Or, “He looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger from Junior!” Even, “I bet his old man nutbag is gonna pop out of those tiny Euro shorts any second!”

But not me. I was jealous.

See, you get life. You don’t wonder for a single second what other people are going to think – your outfit more than proves that. Peer pressure isn’t in your vocabulary. The amount of fucks you give is absolutely zero. Is that not the most freeing feeling there is? The kind of freedom that this country was founded on?

I exist in a constant state of peer pressure. Are these jeans cool enough? Tight enough? But not too tight, right? I can’t even wear an outfit (she’s even got me calling it an outfit) that my fiancé isn’t 100% happy with, because I don’t like the disapproving look I’ll be getting all night unless I change into a shirt that goes better with the pants I have on (which she also picked out).  

Do you know how happy it would make me to throw on a backwards hat (and not give a shit about what logo it had on it), a pair of tiny, weird shorts because they were the first thing I pulled out of my drawer, and top it off by rolling up my red t-shirt over my big, jolly gut simply because it was warm out and it felt better that way? I’d punch a stranger right in the mouth – without apologizing – to feel that kind of pure, sweet freedom and peace of mind.

And your beer belly. That glorious, glorious beer belly. 99% of the world is self-conscious, and would think of that bad boy as something they should try to hide. Not you, sir. Not you. You’ve pulled your shirt up to let it out, ready to give that gut a tan. Is there anything that screams pure confidence more than a tan beer belly?

That baby just oozes life experience. Inside that ball of fat is a story – decades of stories. What were the 1950s like, gut? Tell me, I know the answer is in there.

Thanks for Everything,