Have you seen my man card?

Could someone help me? I’ve lost something awhile back and can’t seem to recover it.

I may have misplaced it while I set it down to wash the dishes. Or it may have slipped behind some furniture while I was vacuuming. It could have been dropped in the laundry room when I was throwing a load in.

I’m talking about my man card, have you seen it? I’d like mine back!

I’ve seen a couple of them on the floor of department store changing rooms where guys have discarded them while trying on skinny jeans.

I saw one discarded into the folds of a salon chair where a dude had his hair fashioned into a man bun for the first time.

None of those were mine, I’d look ridiculous in skinny pants. And, though I am nearing the weight of a Sumo wrestler, I’d never be able to rock a top knot.

But the day in Bass Pro I was pulled away from coveting a model 94 30/30 to go look at bicycle shorts and Birkenstocks, my card began to fade.

When I looked at our credit card statement and saw the purchase of two tickets to Hamilton on Broadway, I had to go to my wallet to see if my man card was in its special compartment.

As I looked in the grocery bag to see which flavor of Doritos made it home from the grocery, and found only kale and quinoa, I knew my card was in danger of revocation.

Toxic masculinity, head of the home and king of the castle, have given way to gender fluidity, getting in touch with one’s feminine side while accessing the right side of the brain. Harleys have been scooted out of the way by Tao Taos, and muscle cars by Subaru and Priuses.

I fear touting any accomplishment of the Donald lest I get hit upside the head by a man bag wielded by a supporter of one of the B’s (Bernie, Biden, (Eliza)Beth, Beto, Bloomberg, Buttigeig, Booker or de Blasio.)

Furthermore, I’ve found It’s best to bite my tongue rather than reference the name Melania. But the mention of Michelle will prompt abundant praise.

Alas, to have my card back. They are no longer being minted; you know?

We don’t know which bathrooms to use at Target. Muscled and mustachioed wonders are winning gold at the girl’s track events. And suits with shorts???

Well, I’m being told I need a pedicure, so I’d better don my bike shorts and pedal down to the salon for my pampering. Perhaps I should get a facial while I’m at it, if I can get an advance on my allowance from my wife, er, ah, significant other.