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 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, 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 potbellied, 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.