Dear Person Applying to Date One of my Teenagers,
You’ve recently passed a pre-test that included your family background screening, personal financial philosophies, character quality check and views on personal space.
You obviously have amazing taste and a great deal of courage, therefore I am offering a trial period where we can all get to know each other better.
Because, of course, if you date one of us, you date the whole family.
I’m not much of a seamstress, but if you arrive for your date with sloppy clothing, I will gladly apply enough duct tape to ensure your pants don’t accidentally fall off during the evening.
Ladies, if you show up dressed in clothing four sizes too small, I totally understand. The economy is so bad, most young ladies can only afford a half of a wardrobe. I will loan you my Snuggie. Zip up!
When I ask you where you are going and with whom, you only get one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Don’t forget: I’m a mom.
I will find out.
Appropriate places for a date include old folks homes, ice skating rinks, hospitals, movies featuring chain saws and explosions, church services, daycare centers, and crowded stadiums.
Be afraid of the dark…very afraid.
When you are together in our home, please accept my complete responsibility for the siblings placed strategically in corners. They are well paid and have one job: maintenance of personal space.
We own an electronic two-foot-long sharpened meat thermometer. It has settings for chicken, beef, turkey, and boyfriend. If we test you and your temperature is too high, you will be “done”.
And we will take you out.
Make curfew by a solid ten minutes. If you’re not early, you’re late.
Do not dally in the car saying ‘Good night’. Exit the vehicle promptly upon arrival and keep both hands in clear view. Announce you have returned my child safely and early, and drive on.
There is no need to linger on the doorstep because I will join you, and after a group hug, will explain that it’s past my bedtime, slam the door in your face and turn out the light.
Our kid is not your ATM, your therapist, your decoration or your doormat.
Facebook, phone calls, tweets and texts will be monitored for quality assurance.
You are not in charge of her, I am.
You cannot change him. Believe me, I already tried.
Some day I will morph from world’s meanest mom into world’s best mother-in-law.
But this is not that day.
Family is forever, and most dates…are not.