8 rules for dating my daughter
Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron
==> Please do NOT remove the copyright from this essay! <==
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 hand
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?
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cameron
You will be hurting our feelings when you do this.
Gracias a Dios mi papá no es así! hahaha
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