And then your coworker tags you in a group photo, at a restaurant, as you’re stretching over the table and exposing your gut. And you look fatter than the Michelin Man would if he were to eat Godzilla. And you scramble to untag yourself. But you know it’s too late. And you realize that this was surely his revenge for your conduct earlier in the day, when you pointed out to everyone he works with that his short hair and long, shaggy beard was actually a reverse mullet – business in the back, party in the front. And you realize that you deserved it. But so did he. Because you can’t walk around sporting a scraggly forest on your face like some dwarf of Moria without getting shit for it. And all is well. And you need to diet.