Big Red Baby isn't actually a baby. He's a man in his mid-twenties whom I see nearly every day at my health club. (This is not Big Red Baby in the picture, but the resemblance is uncanny.)
Big Red Baby has a number of distinguishing features that drew my attention and caused me to grant him his colorful appellation.
First, there is his skin tone, which is akin to the hue of a cooked lobster as it is removed from the boiling pot. The first time I saw him, I thought "Wow, WAY too much time in the tanning bed!" However, his rosy glow has remained constant for several months, so I doubt UV rays are to blame.
Big Red Baby is rather corpulent. Not grotesquely obese, mind you, but he's quite round and has a very chubby (red) face in which his little piggy eyes are mere pin-pricks sitting atop plump apple cheeks. He has the skinny ankles of man of six feet or more, but his bratwurst legs belong to a five-foot-six tubby chap who, for whatever reason, believes that his physique is well suited for cheek-baring short-shorts and sleeveless workout shirts. It is nearly impossible to avoid seeing vast expanses of pink flesh whenever Big Red Baby strolls by.
Big Red Baby has a high, piping voice that seems out of character for man of his robust carriage. This voice can magically cut through the noise of 50 whirring treadmills to deliver his frequent comments of "Dude!" and "No shit!" to my beleaguered ears.
The company Big Red Baby keeps is unexpected. He seems to work out with only the hottest of the buff boys at the gym, the fellows who elicit gasps of awe and delight. You know the ones I mean. I haven't yet determined if they find him as incongruous in their midst as he appears from the outside, but when I watch them work out, I often find myself humming the tune One of These Things Is Not Like the Others.
Finally, though it pains me to share such details, sightings in the locker room confirm that Big Red Baby has fallen into the lamentable practice of shaving off all of his body hair. We're not talking about basic manscaping here, people--this is is the whole kit and caboodle, buzzed down to the pinky-pink skin. The lack of appreciable adult secondary sex characteristics, when paired with an unfortunately wee endowment (that the shaving may be intended to enhance visually), is really the icing on the Big Red Baby cake.
One imagines strolling into the locker room some day to find him sprawled on some industrial strength changing table, chubby legs kicking merrily in the air while one of his hot workout buddies applies baby powder to his big pink bottom.
(Now, savor THAT image throughout the day!)
Always watching so you don't have to,