Conversation at dinner this evening between the 8 Year Old and Self:
8YO: Daddy? When you meet the boy that I’m going to marry, could you kind of go easy on him?
Self: Sweetie, if I think that he’s worthy of you, I’ll be as friendly as you like.
8YO: Oh, good!……Um, Daddy? What happens if you don’t think he’s worthy?
Self: Well then I’ll have to kill him, of course.
Most of you have never met my daughters so I may sound like EveryDad, but trust me on this one: This particular gel combines proto-babe looks with an absolutely charming personality and, in a few years, is going to have the boys lining up round the block. I reckon I’m going to need a good deal of ammo.
***A current Rodney Atkins song. Mrs. R and the gels burned it on to our recent vacation road-trip CD as a joke for my benefit. Personally, I think there’s a great deal of sage advice in it.
The Port Stands At Your Elbow 
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August 30, 2008 at 2:31 am
Little Gidding
As I recall, the pater familia’s traditional firearm of choice for this purpose is a 12-guage and the ammo is rock salt. No need to contemplate homicide. A load in the gluteus maximus is normally all that etiquette requires.