Dear Fella(s),

While I appreciate, nay, admire your copious amounts of unearned self-confidence, can you please do the rest of us a favour and refrain from displaying your “stern-bush” (term often used on the TV Show “Psych”), your fur-matted barrel chest or the far from perfectly manicured lawn that follows the topography of your keg belly?

The gloriously healthy and lush chest hair may rival that which, in desperate failure clings to your crown, but it need not be on display to prove your virility.  We will believe you.  All right, we may not believe you, but that is not the point.

You have enough confidence to make it through the day without showing anyone the scraggly wires that adorn your, once muscular I’m sure, chest.

Take it down a notch, Tiger.

It’s Monday damn it!   And we’re at work!

Yours with averted eyes,

The rest of us

**Now, it must be noted that I do in fact like a man who has hair on his chest.  There is something virile and sexy about it.  This post is about time and place.  Decorum and audience.  Sometimes you can let it all hang out.  Sometimes, you can’t.   It is important to know the difference.

One gets you oooohs and ahhhhs.  The other can get you fired.