As my daughter's fifteenth birthday and my son's sixteenth birthday quickly approach, I have frequent and reoccurring nightmares of the both of them and the fact they will start dating soon. I am not fine with this. In fact, if you must know, I am SO not fine with this that I've done a little research on how best to handle my daughter's beaus and my son's little tramps - err girlfriends when they begin showing up at my door. So in the interest of being the best parent I possibly can I have posted some rules I've found - rules for dating my kids.
Rules For Dating My Daughter
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package because you're surely 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…ever. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them for you.
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 and total idiots. However, I would like 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; I will not object. In order to ensure that your clothing does not 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: Convention dictates 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 home. 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 sweet, precious, charming little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I make you cry. It will be painful.
Rule Seven: As you stand inside my front door, waiting for my daughter to appear and more than an hour has passed, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for a movie, you should not be dating girls. 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, nuns, or clergy within eyesight.
Places where there is darkness.
Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or any kind of happiness what-so-ever.
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 with a "G" rating are okay as are movies which feature chainsaws.
Hockey games are okay, old folks' homes are better.
Rule Nine: Do not lie to me - ever. I may appear to be a saggy, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless ruler of your world. 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, so help you God. I have a shotgun, a shovel, an acre behind the house and I know how to hide the body. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. When my schizophrenia starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my firearms 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, and then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The face at the window is mine.
Rules 1-8 by W. Bruce Cameron
Rules For Dating My Son
Rule One: Feel free to come and pick up my son for your date. In fact, you have the ability to earn bonus points should you pick him up in your parents’ little foreign car ditty. Do not arrive in an SUV unless you are heading to the woods for a little off-roading.
Rule Two: If my son gathers his courage and asks you for a date, this is not an opportunity to run all of your errands with my son in tow. Sweetie? This is not your chance to take him on any little side trips to the mall where he will be expected to tag along after you as you use him first as your personal chauffeur, then as your beast of burden for the packages you will have undoubtedly accrued. My son is sensitive and proud. When you chitchat with your friends about him (and we both know that you will) anything but praise is strictly forbidden. He has his heart on his sleeve and for whatever reason he has for taking you out, this in my one AND ONLY one warning - do not take advantage of him. This will simply not happen, correct? Good! If I hear it has happened, I will simply hustle your shapely little behind down my front steps, dump your skinny little bottom into the trunk of your father’s Ferrari with your precious packages piled high beside you and UPS the entire bundle to Outer Mongolia.
Rules For Dating My Daughter
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package because you're surely 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…ever. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them for you.
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 and total idiots. However, I would like 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; I will not object. In order to ensure that your clothing does not 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: Convention dictates 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 home. 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 sweet, precious, charming little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I make you cry. It will be painful.
Rule Seven: As you stand inside my front door, waiting for my daughter to appear and more than an hour has passed, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for a movie, you should not be dating girls. 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, nuns, or clergy within eyesight.
Places where there is darkness.
Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or any kind of happiness what-so-ever.
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 with a "G" rating are okay as are movies which feature chainsaws.
Hockey games are okay, old folks' homes are better.
Rule Nine: Do not lie to me - ever. I may appear to be a saggy, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless ruler of your world. 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, so help you God. I have a shotgun, a shovel, an acre behind the house and I know how to hide the body. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. When my schizophrenia starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my firearms 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, and then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The face at the window is mine.
Rules 1-8 by W. Bruce Cameron
Rules For Dating My Son
Rule One: Feel free to come and pick up my son for your date. In fact, you have the ability to earn bonus points should you pick him up in your parents’ little foreign car ditty. Do not arrive in an SUV unless you are heading to the woods for a little off-roading.
Rule Two: If my son gathers his courage and asks you for a date, this is not an opportunity to run all of your errands with my son in tow. Sweetie? This is not your chance to take him on any little side trips to the mall where he will be expected to tag along after you as you use him first as your personal chauffeur, then as your beast of burden for the packages you will have undoubtedly accrued. My son is sensitive and proud. When you chitchat with your friends about him (and we both know that you will) anything but praise is strictly forbidden. He has his heart on his sleeve and for whatever reason he has for taking you out, this in my one AND ONLY one warning - do not take advantage of him. This will simply not happen, correct? Good! If I hear it has happened, I will simply hustle your shapely little behind down my front steps, dump your skinny little bottom into the trunk of your father’s Ferrari with your precious packages piled high beside you and UPS the entire bundle to Outer Mongolia.
Rule Three: I'm sure you've are enlightened about sex and have all of the latest information on diseases and methods of contraception. You may even be using one of these methods "just in case". Awesome! And yes, I am sure that you are well informed and I’m so glad you paid attention during health class. I'd like to offer one tiny-itty-bitty-wee extra bit of information for your general edification - if you even THINK of touching my son in an intimate fashion, I will personally break every bone in your entire body - no questions asked - just to helpfully remind you of my favorite method of contraception…."abstinence" until marriage.
Rule Four: I have noticed that recent fashions include piercing various "interesting" body parts. I have no problems with your basic pierced eyebrow, nose, lip, tongue or belly button. Please be aware that, with only the most helpful of intentions, I have a rather large pair of needle-nosed pliers in my toolbox. (Yes, my toolbox, not my craft-box. I really do want to be helpful!)
Rule Five: Speaking of fashion, I am aware that it is considered “hip” (and don’t mock me for using that word, young lady) for girls of your age to wear their shirts with the bottom half ripped off with painted-on jeans slug so low your thong panties are there for the world to see. Please don't take this as an insult but you and all of your friends are complete moronic sluts. However, I would like to be fair and open minded about this issue so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with tits and ass hanging out, looking as if you are auditioning for a job as head pole-dancer at Uncle Eddies House of Whores. However, in order to ensure that your clothing doesn’t actually expose any unintended flesh, I will feel free to helpfully use my staple and hot glue guns to fasten them to your midriff and/or chest. Watch the makeup and perfume while you're at it, too. Should you show up with your face painted tawdry colors and reeking like the Whore of Babylon, I will take great pleasure in lovingly introducing you to a wire brush, sandpaper, and a bar of Lava soap.
Rule Six: If your only "asset" is a beautiful shape and your flowing mane of hair: stay away from my son. Only bright girls with excellent career opportunities need accept an opportunity to be seen out and about with my sweet baby boy. Your literacy and education will be tested so please come prepared to recite from the three-thousand, twenty-four paged manual you were provided with yesterday. What? You didn’t get your copy? Looks like it could be a difficult exam.
Rule Seven: You may be enlightened concerning natural and organic substances along with crystallized and powdered-sugar type items. If I so much as suspect that you have even a glimmer of intent in the education of my son regarding these substances, I will be educating Officer Dryzwiki about your existence to insure your general good health... just to be helpful.
Rule Eight: Do not lie to me - ever. I have access to a lie-detector machine and I won’t hesitate to use it. I may appear to be a saggy, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my son, I am the all-knowing, all-powerful and merciless goddess of your universe. If I ask where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. I have been known to speed up slow answerers by grabbing the back of their jeans with one hand, the back of their hair with another, and re-introducing them to the brick steps out front. Do not lie, speak swiftly, and don't utter the phrase "ummmm" or snap your gum in my presence.
Rule Nine: Before dating my son you are required to get a physical check-up. I will review the doctor’s report. As long as you date my son you stick with him and only him. I have no doubt you are an extremely popular girl and could even have the rest of the football team panting after your skanky ass (oops, sorry, that slipped). This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my son. Once you have gone out with my darling, sweet, precious baby boy, you will continue to date no one but him until you come to an amicable agreement to separate. If you break his heart, I will most assuredly make you wish you had never…ever… been born, Dear.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. When my schizophrenia starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my firearms as I wait for you to bring my son 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 son home safely then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The figure in the rocking chair on the porch is me.
Rule Seven: You may be enlightened concerning natural and organic substances along with crystallized and powdered-sugar type items. If I so much as suspect that you have even a glimmer of intent in the education of my son regarding these substances, I will be educating Officer Dryzwiki about your existence to insure your general good health... just to be helpful.
Rule Eight: Do not lie to me - ever. I have access to a lie-detector machine and I won’t hesitate to use it. I may appear to be a saggy, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my son, I am the all-knowing, all-powerful and merciless goddess of your universe. If I ask where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. I have been known to speed up slow answerers by grabbing the back of their jeans with one hand, the back of their hair with another, and re-introducing them to the brick steps out front. Do not lie, speak swiftly, and don't utter the phrase "ummmm" or snap your gum in my presence.
Rule Nine: Before dating my son you are required to get a physical check-up. I will review the doctor’s report. As long as you date my son you stick with him and only him. I have no doubt you are an extremely popular girl and could even have the rest of the football team panting after your skanky ass (oops, sorry, that slipped). This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my son. Once you have gone out with my darling, sweet, precious baby boy, you will continue to date no one but him until you come to an amicable agreement to separate. If you break his heart, I will most assuredly make you wish you had never…ever… been born, Dear.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. When my schizophrenia starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my firearms as I wait for you to bring my son 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 son home safely then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The figure in the rocking chair on the porch is me.
I have taken many liberties with “lists” found in my googling frenzy. Many thanks to those whose lists I used and/or modified.
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