No shirts till Labor Day
My teenage girls walked into the kitchen modeling their summer attire. I heard one say to the other, “This is going to be a total hot girl summer!”
I smiled, ripped off my shirt, and said, “Great idea! I’m going to have a hot dad summer—no shirts till Labor Day!”
“Eww,” they both screeched. “Put your shirt back on. Nobody wants to see that.”
Further emboldened, I left my shirt off all day and told any guy friends who walked by on the street they needed to join me in Hot Dad Summer. Because some of them weren’t dads, we renamed the event Hot Guy Summer. It’s taking off.
Yesterday, I walked by Gravity Sports. The weather was chilly, so I had a shirt and sweatshirt on. Lars, the owner of Gravity, spotted me and yelled, “Hey, I thought this was Hot Guy Summer! What’s with the sweatshirt?”
Chagrined, I stripped down. Goosebumps started immediately, but I thought the pain was worth it. Lars promised to join me after work hours. I’m sure he did.
The streak has continued.
Whenever my girls’ boyfriends walk in the garage, they strip off their shirts in solidarity. Neighbors walking by see me on the street and rip off their shirts as they walk by—putting them back on at the end of the street, but hey, it’s a start.
And, of course, I’m constantly rewarded by the raw indignation of my daughters’ friends. My favorite story happened the second day of Hot Guy Summer. I was tinkering in the garage, shirtless and happy, when I heard a loud squeal from the front of the garage and the sound of rapidly retreating feet.
“Mr. Rodney,” yelled one of my daughter’s girlfriends, “put on some clothes!”
I laughed and pointed out that she was in my garage, uninvited I might add, and that I was proud of how I looked. I then brought her up to speed on Hot Guy Summer and told her I wasn’t wearing a shirt till Labor Day, so she should get used to it.
She laughed and said (pointing at my chest), “Well, I guess the twins are spending the summer at my house, because I can’t unsee this.”
Perfect, I thought. I can use the peace and quiet.
Of course, like all great ideas, as this one gained traction, it became the “new normal,” so my peace and quiet was short-lived. And it had the unintended consequence of a bunch of fit, shirtless teenage boys running around the house and town with my daughters. I may not have thought this through.
In any event, I want to invite you to join me on my Hot Guy Summer quest—no matter your age or what shape you’re in, you’re welcome to join the party. And, if you need any grooming tips, I can offer up a simple strategy—if you’re old enough to have more hair on your chest and belly then your head, put that awesome rug to work. Shave a nice six pack into your stomach, rip off your shirt, and strut your stuff. Here’s a pic of how that strategy looks.
See you out there!
