Ten Simple Rules for Dating My Son

Have you seen the "10 Rules for Dating My Daughter?  I always get a chuckle out of that when it came around!  Last year someone sent it to a list I was on, and since I don't have a daughter, and in the spirit of the thing, I wrote up the following...  If you like it, feel free to share it, but make sure you tell the truth about who wrote it, or I'll have to come, ummmm..... speak to you....  

written June 6, 1999 by Lisa M. Alekna, and posted to my website April 28, 2000

Rule One:

If my son gathers his courage and asks you for a date, this is not an opportunity to run all your errands with my car. Sweetie, you will not ask him to take you on any little side trips to anywhere, especially the mall, where he will be expected to tag along after you as you use him first as your personal chauffeur, then as your bearer for your packages. He has his heart and soul wrapped up in taking you out, for whatever reason that may be, and he has a heart of gold, very simply, you will not take advantage of him. This will simply not happen, right?  And therefore, I simply will not hustle your shapely little behind down my front steps to dump you in the trunk with your precious packages and UPS the entire bundle to Tibet, either... right?

Rule Two:

You do not touch my son in front of me. Period... No clinging, no hugging, not even holding hands. You may glance at him, but any glances going beneath the belt will get you an immediate expulsion from my house. You will find your feet hitting the pavement faster than your gum-snapping mouth can shriek "What?? What did I do??"

Rule Three:

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for girls of your age to wear their shirts with the bottom half ripped off, where any sudden movement threatens to expose yourself to any casual passerby or with necklines so low that your breasts nearly tumble out, so, please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete moronic sluts. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with breasts hanging out, and looking like you are trying out for a job with Hugh Heffner, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your shirt actually does not expose any unintended flesh, I will feel free to helpfully use my hot glue gun to fasten it to your midriff and or chest. Watch the makeup while you're at it too. Should you show up with your face painted garish colors and reeking of perfume like the Whore of Babylon, I will take great pleasure in helpfully introducing you to a scrub brush and a bar of Lava soap...

Rule Four:

I'm sure you've are enlightened about sex, and have all the latest information on diseases and methods of contraception. You may even be using one of these methods, "just in case". Yes, I am sure that you are well informed. Well, I'd like to offer one wee extra bit of information for your general edification - if you even THINK of touching my son in an intimate fashion, I will break every bone in your hands - no questions asked - just to helpfully remind you of my favorite method of contraception, which is this nifty "new" idea called "abstinence" until marriage...

Rule Five:

I have noted that the recent fashions have tended towards piercing various, shall we say, "interesting" body parts. I have no real problems with your basic pierced eyebrow, nose, lip, tongue or belly button, honest, but be aware that, with only the most helpful of intentions, I also have a rather large pair of pliers in my toolbox.  (Yes, my toolbox, not my craft-box. I really DO want to be helpful!)

Rule Six: 

I have no doubt you are a popular girl, and you may have the entire football team panting after you. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my son. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my darling 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'd never been born, dear.

Rule Seven:

Should you happen to stop by here, please remember there is still such a thing as manners. As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my son to appear, and more than thirty seconds goes by, do not sigh and fidget, and do not snap your gum. He is hurrying as fast as he can, and he's not only driving you, he's buying your movie ticket. In fact, actually, not that I think about it, thanks so very much for stopping over - instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like vacuuming?

Rule Eight:

You may also be enlightened as to the use of many natural herbal substances, or crystallized and powdered substances. We're not even going to mention things that can be injected, are we? If I ever even think you have even a small glimmer of intent to educate my son regarding these substances, I will be educating Officer Krupky about your general existence, just to be helpful, and insure your general good health...

Rule Nine:

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be an graying middle-aged, not kewl hippie wannabe. But on issues relating to my son, I am the all-knowing, all-powerful and merciless goddess 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 been known to speed up slow answerers by grabbing the back of their jeans with one hand and the back of their hair with another, and re-introducing them to the front walk... Don't
lie, and speak swiftly and don't say "ummmm" ...

Rule Ten:

Be afraid, be very afraid.... Schizophrenia may very well run in families, they're not quite sure... and I am about the same age as my dearly departed grandmother was when she snapped from stress and completely lost it... Family legend has it that she would greet my fathers unacceptable dates with carving knife in hand... try not to ummm, stress me out... ya, that's it, try very hard not to stress me out... see, I have a nice collection of Ginsu's in the kitchen, myself... Grandma would have loved them...  I'm not kidding even a little tiny bit...

Have fun, kids!!!

(but not too much fun!)

 

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