When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend's
father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands
on his
daughter's chest. He would open the door and immediately
affect a
good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a handshake
that, when
gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.
Now, years
later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how
unfairly
persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my
best to make my
daughter's suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt
them in the
living room and they'll stay wilted all night.
"So," I'll call out
jovially. "I see you have your nose pierced.
Is that because you're
stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR
stupid?"
As a dad, I have
some basic rules, which I have carved into two
stone tablets that I have
on display in my living room.
Rule One:
If you pull into my
driveway and honk you'd better be
delivering a package, because you're
sure as heck not picking
anything up.
Rule Two:
You do
not touch my daughter in front of me. You may
glance at her,
so long as you do not peer at anything below her
neck. If you cannot keep
your eyes or hands off of my daughter's
body, I will remove
them.
Rule Three:
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 their hips. Please don't take this as
an insult, but you
and all of your friends are complete idiots.
Still, I want to be
fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose
this compromise:
You may come to the door with your underwear showing and
your pants
ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to
assure
that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course
of
your date with my daughter, I will take my electric staple gun
and
fasten your trousers securely in place around your waist.
Rule
Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without
utilizing
a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me
elaborate: when
it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I WILL kill
you.
Rule Five:
In order for us to get to know each other,
we should talk about sports,
politics, and other issues of the day.
Please do not do this. The
only information I require from you is
an indication of when you expect
to have my daughter safely back at my
house, and the only word I need
from you on this subject is
"early."
Rule Six:
I have no doubt 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 little girl,
you will continue to date no one but her
until she is finished with
you. If you make her cry, I will make
YOU cry.
Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway,
waiting for my daughter to appear,
and more than an hour goes by, do not
sigh and fidget. If you want
to be on time for the movie, you
should not be dating. My daughter
is putting on her makeup, a
process which can take longer than painting
the Golden Gate Bridge.
Instead of just standing there, why don't
you do something useful, like
changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight:
The following places
are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
Places where there
are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden
stool. Places
where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within
eyesight.
Places where there is darkness. Places where there is
dancing, holding
hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient
temperature is warm
enough to 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 adam's apple. Movies with a
strong romantic or sexual theme are
to be avoided; movies which
feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey
games are okay.
My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come
downstairs and find me
attempting to get her date to recite these
eight simple
rules from memory. I'd be embarrassed too--there are
only eight of
them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I did NOT
suggest to
one of these cretins that I'd have these rules tattooed on his
arm if
he couldn't remember them. (I checked into it and the cost
is
prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing the rules
on
his arm with a ball point might be inadequate--ink washes
off--and
that my wood burning set was probably a better
alternative.
One time, when my wife caught me having one of my
daughter's would-be
suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out
of the
car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated
rule
number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a
few
dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy.
"Don't
you remember being that age?" she challenged.
Of
course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight
simple
rules?
********************************
"..if one does not
have wild dreams of achievement,
there is no spur even to get the dishes
washed.
One must think like a hero to behave
like a merely
decent human being."
- May Sarton
********************************
[Mother Shiptons Prophecy] [Poetry]
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