There are certain warning signs when observing suitors that should send shivers down the spine of any self respecting dad. Red flag number one is not coming to the door to pick up the young lady. This tells me either you look like a motorcycle gang poster boy, were raised by wolves, or had a “couple” of beers before coming over. Not only should you come to the door, but you should expect to come inside and attempt to carry on a semblance of a coherent conversation. A couple of pointers are warranted here. Try to make complete sentences without using “like” fifteen or twenty times and if you have a nose ring, either take it out or come up with a story about completing your graduate degree in Bushman anthropology and you are in an immersion semester. Do not show up late unless your grandmother just died, and only tell me your grandmother died once. Red flag number two is the boyfriend beginning the conversation with a pitch to join him in a multilevel marketing scheme. Yes, it shows initiative, but also a hefty load of stupidity with a side of arrogance.
I was pretty benign towards boyfriends until I saw one of my daughters actually shed a few tears over one’s actions. This was unacceptable as my daughters usually only cry when I embarrass them by my wearing short shorts to run in. I reserve the right to exclusive tears and will not tolerate any behavior leading to sadness in my babies. The first time one of them came home sobbing over “nothing” I had to be restrained by my wife or I would have committed a genocide of one. I dreamed of using my surgical skills to smash their nose then sew it back up and have it look like a vagina; would you expect anything less from a gynecologist? Only a dad can appreciate the rage elicited by seeing the fruits of his loins crying their eyes out because some scum monkey boyfriend forgot their 2 month anniversary. If the insensitive boob can’t even remember a simple, irrelevant fact like that, what good is he?
Boyfriends who try to hard are also annoying and destined to work the night shift at Target. Know from the start, I don’t want to talk to you, I simply want you to be sober and take care of my baby. I want to talk with you long enough to know if you have any felony convictions or are a fan of Justin Bieber, both of which are a game ender. I want to know if you made it past the fifth grade and you have a current non suspended drivers license. I must say at this point I don’t want to give the impression that these are the kind of folks my daughter’s elect to date, quite the contrary. They have amazing taste and generally pick with aplomb, but every now and then, much like a termite, someone sneaks in who will eat you out of house and home, literally and figuratively. I remember one massive hunka-hunka burnin’ love who ate so much at our house I thought I was going to have to take a second job to pay for the extra groceries. Then there was the Mensa member who ordered the biggest steak on the menu at a local restaurant as we treated my daughter and he to a dinner out. That was fine, expensive, but fine; however, he also ordered what ended up being the equivalent of a six pack of craft lager. I was underwhelmed by both his choice and lack of cash to chip in. I wrote if off as being nervous, but the eventual truth was he was a sot.
I have been blessed with two intelligent, beautiful daughters who, for the most part, pick judiciously who they date. They have finally warmed to the idea that no boy they bring home can ever or will ever meet my expectations. If they could only find a younger me. But, alas, I would never allow them to date someone like me. As Groucho once said,”I would never join a club who would allow someone like me as a member!”
