Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk,
you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure as hell 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 pants 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 ensure that your clothes 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 to 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: It is
usually understood that 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, 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
that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of
just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like the dishes,
or 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 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 goosedown
parka – zipped up to her throat. 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 Nine: Do
not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged,
dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the
all-knowing, merciless God of your going out and with whom, you have one
chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not
f#%k with me.