There comes a time in any human male’s life, usually when he’s really let himself go and boasting an enormous beer belly, when he’s eager to rip his top off and strut around Tesco.

It’s like those men who refuse to ask for directions. Sheer bloody will, and mounds of relentless flab, are all that is required in 99.9% of situations.

However, some human females (feminists, of course) have a problem with the human male form in all its glory. Tsk…

When a Man Loves a Woman But He’s in a Supermarket So Feels the Inexplicable Need to Take His Top Off to Buy Ready Meals

Dear agony aunt. My name is Katarzyna and I am from Poland. My husband I marry in England, Derek, is a nice man. At least when I married him. Six years later and he has changed very much so, mostly with his colossal weight gain which he achieved by eating many, many pork pies.

He also drinks much beer. This year alone of 2023 I count and he has consumed 541 cans of lager. Now he sweats a lot and belches a lot yet despite now starting to look like hippopotamus he seems to have convinced himself he is now more attractive than ever before.

Six year ago he was no Adonis, but I see him on a date and I think, "He handsome. Sure, he's no Brad Pitt but then that is not everything. Because Brad Pitt is probably out of my league anyway. And he doesn't live nearby. In fact, he lives in completely different country. If I want to marry Brad Pitt, I should have move to America, Katarzyna, you foolish girl!"

Anyway, Derek is my husband but now he has habit of ripping shirt from body at every given opportunity. As soon, here in UK around April, the first specks of sunlight come through following seven months of rain, gloom, clouds, and vitamin D deficiency off comes his top.

He'll do it at such stupid times, though. The other week we park up in Tesco car park. I am looking forward to buying fresh vegetables and lean meats. As we prepare to leave car, husband rips his shirt off and belches very loudly.

"Derek! Put you top back on, please!"
"Don't you FACKIN' stifle my being, woman!"
"But we're going to the supermarket, this isn't Barbados!"
"Don't you FACKIN' nanny state me, woman!"

We go round in circles like so. He refused to put his shirt back on, so we go into Tesco. He's pouring sweat on the vegetables aisle, leaning over the fresh tomatoes and asparagus with sweat dripping off him onto the veg as he's leaning over. Reeking of body odour. I could tell my fellow supermarket shoppers were appalled.

I was so ashamed.

Then I steered the trolly round the corner onto the supermarket's vast, seemingly mile-long beer aisle. And there they all were. Hundreds of them! Large, overweight, pale British men with their tops off - many of them sunburned. They were all chattering away and I caught bits of conversation such as, "No way was that FACKIN' offside, what were the ref thinkin'?!"

Derek eye spies them, with a manly grunt of delight, waddles ahead at speed to join the wobbling, jiggling mass of manliness. Within 30 seconds they'd started a football chant and a further 30 seconds later and a full riot had started. I have never seen so much manly British flab wobbling about all over the place as that before. So much sunburn. So much "YOU STARTIN', MATE!?" So much British passion for embarrassing stupidity.

Anyway, security turned up and we were escorted off the premises. My husband wrote an angry email to the supermarket manager later complaining about the "nanny state".

We had a dinner party a few days later. This was supposed to be a sophisticated evening and I wanted to discuss the films I watch recently. Derek ruined it because, as soon as the main course arrived (black pudding with haggis, dripping, gravy, and mushy peas) he ripped his top off. He insisted it was the type of manly meal that needed consuming with his top off. "If I don't take me top off, petal, I'd be a big girl's blouse." The other guests objected, though, and Derek yelled at them. He yelled many bad things and now we're not friends with those people anymore.

I really want to divorce this dickhead.

What should I do? Yours, Katarzyna

Hi there, Katarzyna. Shirtless tomfoolery isn’t ideal in any human male, but divorcing him as he has a penchant for ripping his top off at the most misguided moments humanly imaginable?

Granted, if he did it at a funeral we’d say dump his lardy arse.

But in a British supermarket surrounded by baked beans, spaghetti hoops, beer, and fellow annoying as all hell lager lout dipshits? Let him enjoy his moment, Katarzyna! Unsettling a human male in his natural environment can have terrible consequences.

For example, if you chastise him he may behave himself and go about his daily life like an orderly, likeable citizen.

But that is COMMUNISM, so back off and let him be a real man. That’s a British beer belly, Katarzyna. Empires were built upon its legacy.