Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not stare 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 realize it is fashionable for boys your age to wear pants that fall off their hips. Don’t take this as an insult, but you and your friends are complete idiots. Still, I propose this compromise: If you come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, I will not object. But to ensure that your pants do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten them securely 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:
For you and I to get to know each other, custom says 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 doubts that 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 and I sit waiting for my daughter to appear, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you do not date a teenaged girl. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Just relax and enjoy my glare, or, better yet, do something useful, like rotate my tires.
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 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 chainsaws are ok.
Places that are appropriate:
* Church
* A retirement home (the elderly love visiting teenagers)
* Our living room
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 of dense woods.
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 exposure to Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head urge 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 the 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.
