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Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package,
because you're sure 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 his
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 utilising 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, 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
that 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 throat. Movies with a strong
romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features 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 pot-bellied, balding, middle-aged,
dim-witted 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, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the
house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. 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 my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me
to clean the guns as I wait 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 at the window is mine.
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