Normally, I flip through the interwebs casually and inattentively. I read headlines, glance at cat pictures, and roll my eyes at religious and political stuff. Every so often, I see a popular meme that irritates me so much that it jars me from my semi-conscious social media induced zombie state. I know you have probably seen this one, too. It’s everywhere. It’s even on t-shirts. As you can probably tell from looking at the title, it’s the Rules for Dating my Daughter meme that irritates the pacifist right out of me.
Why would this irritate me? It’s funny, right? WRONG. It’s not funny when you have a son. Not one bit. It’s not funny when someone assumes your Star Wars watching, animal loving boy is a threat to anyone. So, Mr. Macho Rules for Dating my Daughter, I’ve got some replies for you.
Get a job.
Why? Are you counting on him to pay your bills while you sit around, pull the bedbugs out of your navel, and write stupid ass rules for dating your daughter? School is his job right now. Obviously, it was never your focus.
Understand I don’t like you.
Understand he probably doesn’t give a shit. Also, understand your snotty little princess might get on my last nerve.
I am everywhere.
That’s an odd statement. Are you on any psychiatric drugs or did you fail basic physics in school? While you are floating around EVERYWHERE, can you tell your daughter to stop leaving hickies on my son?
You hurt her, I hurt you.
First of all, that is a comma splice. You would have learned fancy writing skills in school. Also, DO NOT threaten my son. If you hurt him, I can promise that you will never know what hit you. I will fly at you with some Lifetime movie level shenanigans like the Wicked Witch of the West on Meth riding a Dyson.
Be home 30 minutes early.
Then tell BOTH of them to be home 30 minutes earlier than you originally said. Don’t play games. Just give a damn time.
Get a lawyer.
Why? Dating your daughter is a crime because she is such a special princess? Fuck off.
If you lie to me, I will find out.
How? Did Harry Potter mind reading skills come with your “I am everywhere” starter kit?
She is my princess, not your conquest.
I didn’t know princesses traded in their gowns for shorts that show their labia. My son generally wears pants that cover his genitals. Who is the conquest?
I don’t mind going back to jail.
Really? Is it the food or your big, burly lover that you miss most?
Whatever you do to her, I will do to you.
So, you will buy him jewelry for Christmas? You will take him to the movies every week, and out for ice cream, too? I think you need to think this one through a little.
Really, I’m not sure why any of these “rules” bother me. They were obviously written by a “man” who sits on his porch, polishes his gun, and spits tobacco juice into a Mountain Dew can. In other words, he’s a walking stereotype.
Hey, I’ve got an idea, Mr. Rules. You could maybe get to know my son as a person rather than an imaginary threat. In return, I will stop rolling my eyes whenever your daughter complains of being cold in her denim bikini bottoms. Deal?