Dating my daughter rules.
Rule One: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age
to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off your
hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends
are idiots. Still, I want to be fair. You may come to the door with your
underwear showing and your pants 10 sizes too big, and I will not object.
However, to ensure that your pants do not, in fact, come off during the
course of your date with my daughter I will take my electric nail gun and
fasten your trousers securely in place at your waist.
Rule Two: I’m sure that you have been told that in today’s world sex without
a barrier can be deadly. Let me elaborate: When it comes to sex, I am the
barrier and I will kill you.
Rule Three: I have no doubt the you are a popular fellow, with many
opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is
okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my daughter,
you will continue to date no one but her until she is through with you. If
you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Four: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to
appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not fidget and complain. If you
want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is
putting on her makeup — a process that can take longer than painting the
Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there why don’t you do
something useful, like change the oil in my car?
Rule Five: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my
daughter: Places where there are sofas, beds or anything softer than a
wooden stool or folding chair; places where there are no parents, policemen,
or nuns within eyesight; places where there is darkness; places where the
ambient temperature would induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops,
midriff T-shirts or anything other than overalls, a sweater and a goose down
parka, zipped up to her chin. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme
are to be avoided; movies which feature chain saws are okay. Hockey games
are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Rule 6: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, middle-aged,
dimwitted has-been, but on issues relating to my daughter, I am the
all-knowing, merciless God of your universe. If I ask you where you are
going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth. I have a
shotgun, a shovel and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule 7: Be careful, be very careful. It takes very little for me to mistake
the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice
paddy near Hanoi. When the flashbacks start, the voices in my head
frequently tell me to clean my guns as I sit at home waiting for you to
bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway, you should
exit your car, with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password,
announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and
early, then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The
camouflaged face in the window is mine.
(this piece was discovered as I was really complaining to myself about the off-topic postings to a Paperport Yahoo group — but this is a jewel! I’ll complain no more … even to myself)