Rule One: If you talk with foul words and dress like a floosy in shirts that are too small and pants low with thong showing, I will treat you like one. You are only allowed to wear granny panties super glued to your hind quarters.
Rule Two: If you date my son you date only him. He has a kind heart and I will not have you make my son cry; if he does, I will make you cry. You may only date one of my sons. Ever.
Rule Three: You must know how to cook as well as I have taught my son to cook. He is a big eater. Frozen dinners do not count.
Rule Four: Do not be hurt when my son chooses sports over time with you. Join in and learn the game. Shopping is not a sport.
Rule Five: Do not date my son for his money because I am his bank. Do not expect expensive gifts, he has been taught to be a savvy shopper.
Rule Six: Don't sleep with my son; the only rubber he should be concerned about is out in the driveway and has Goodyear stamped on it.
Rule Seven: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pudgy, baggy-eyed, last-season, has-been. But on issues relating to my son, I am the queen of his universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth. If you do not I will ask him. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Eight: My son has been raised not to hit a lady, so act like one and I will not have to hit you for him.
Rule Nine: If you need more than 30 minutes to dress for a date with my son, be prepared to talk with him only during halftime and commercial breaks for identification from the local station.
Rule Ten: My son is not a toy. He does not have Hasbro, Mattel or any other toy company tatooed on his person. Hence, he is not an object for you to play with, manipulate, and discard at your leisure. I suffered through 42 hours of labor to have him, and will unleash an unimaginable amount of anger such that the movie 300 will look like an episode of the Little House on the Prairie should you cross me.
Rule Two: If you date my son you date only him. He has a kind heart and I will not have you make my son cry; if he does, I will make you cry. You may only date one of my sons. Ever.
Rule Three: You must know how to cook as well as I have taught my son to cook. He is a big eater. Frozen dinners do not count.
Rule Four: Do not be hurt when my son chooses sports over time with you. Join in and learn the game. Shopping is not a sport.
Rule Five: Do not date my son for his money because I am his bank. Do not expect expensive gifts, he has been taught to be a savvy shopper.
Rule Six: Don't sleep with my son; the only rubber he should be concerned about is out in the driveway and has Goodyear stamped on it.
Rule Seven: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pudgy, baggy-eyed, last-season, has-been. But on issues relating to my son, I am the queen of his universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth. If you do not I will ask him. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Eight: My son has been raised not to hit a lady, so act like one and I will not have to hit you for him.
Rule Nine: If you need more than 30 minutes to dress for a date with my son, be prepared to talk with him only during halftime and commercial breaks for identification from the local station.
Rule Ten: My son is not a toy. He does not have Hasbro, Mattel or any other toy company tatooed on his person. Hence, he is not an object for you to play with, manipulate, and discard at your leisure. I suffered through 42 hours of labor to have him, and will unleash an unimaginable amount of anger such that the movie 300 will look like an episode of the Little House on the Prairie should you cross me.
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