Mail time is an exciting time for me.  At lunch, I head to the mailbox eager to see what awaits.  Bills?  A package?  A letter from my mom?  A postcard from my friend Andy?  Ads?  A fresh order of www.CookiesbyDave.com swag?  More bills?  More bills for www.CookiesbyDave.com swag?  It doesn’t really matter, it is always a surprise.  Always fun regardless of the contents.

Well, today I headed to the mailbox.  Reaching in, I pulled out our cable bill, a non-profit mailing, and this…

Now, I don’t have a problem with models of any sort.  They need to work, too.  I also don’t have a problem with mailings from department stores.  They need the business, too.  What I do have a problem with is associating this guy with “dads.”  This hybrid of James Dean and the members of One Direction looks nothing like me.  Nothing like any dad I know.  Just not right.  Those nautical shorts.  That sweater that would never properly fit over his long sleeved shirt.  Just not right.  Miss of the target audience.

Unless of course the target audience is my wife.  Or my kids.  Anyone who might purchase a Father’s Day gift for me.  Let’s address these target audiences one-by-one.  First my wife.  She might look at this “dad” and think, “Hum, attractive, but too young.”  “That convertible that he’s driving.  It would never fit a car seat.  He probably can only afford it, because he spends way too much time at work.”  Too self-centered.  Not good “dad” material.  Sure, he may be a father, but he is unlikely  a “dad.”  (Yes, I am being judgmental, but this is my safe space.  Give me a break.)  For instance, where is he worse for the wear?  Why doesn’t his evening beer sit on his gut like a sack full of sawdust.  Never mind the question, “Does he look like he would help clean up your child’s vomit at 2AM?”  Nope.  Never.  No chance.  “Could he bake a yummy cookie?”  Please…  Attractive, yes.  A good time, probably.  Eye candy, perhaps, but still just not right.  Miss of the target audience.

Second, my kids.  Does this guy look like he would wrestle with his kids on the floor?  Nope.  Never, unless he is acting out of character, just to earn lovin’ points with mom.  That’s enough for disqualification alone.  Just not right.  Miss of the target audience.

So today, I visited the mailbox and I was greeted by something other than a “dad.”  I was greeted by a model.  A poser.  So if you want the real thing.  The ugly truth.  Fatherhood, with all of its warts.  Look no further than the guy getting the mail, not the dude in the mailbox.  #Truth

Bonus Footage (i.e. ramblings) – Plus he looks like a guy who would never remain at work with an egg yolk stain on his pants. That’s right, an egg yolk stain. So I needed to work off site a little this morning. On the drive back to my main cubicle, I passed a gas station/convenience store that has yummy breakfast croissant sandwiches. Honest, they are really yummy. Even though they are by no means a permissible food on my diet, I figured how much can one yummy gas station/convenience store breakfast croissant hurt? Plus, given the fact that it was almost 11:30AM, the croissant would count as lunch. Bonus. So as luck would have it, they had some croissants still remaining in the warmer display thing (surprise). Mind you, they were not sausage, egg, and cheese croissants (my favorite), but rather ham, egg, and cheese croissants (far from being my favorite). They would have to do (ugh, the sacrifices I make in life). So I took the croissant with the thick piece of ham back to my cubicle. Settling in, I took a strong bite (considering that the undesirable slice of ham was so thick, a strong bite was necessary) and what happened? A big old splurt (that’s right, it was a “splurt”) of egg yolk jumped out and landed on my inner right pant leg. Perhaps, some kind of curse for a flagrant dietary violation. Perhaps. Well, this never happened with my good ol’ sausage croissant. For some reason, their eggs were always perfectly prepared over hard (which by the way is a phrase that I am very uncomfortable typing). Any who, this dude, who is posing as a dad, would never be caught dead with egg yolk on his nautical themed pants, much less caught dead eating a gas station/convenience store breakfast croissant. ‘Nuff said. Case closed.