My biggest fears in life are snakes coming out of toilets, saying another girl’s name in my sleep when I’m next to my significant other, and worst of all — having a daughter. If I have sons, yeah, I’ll dominate. It’ll be a Phil Dunphy-Luke Dunphy situation where we’re just feeding off each other with hilarious quips that make my wife roll her eyes and think, “Shucks, where do they come up with this stuff?”
But a daughter? I don’t know if I can handle that. I freeze up at the sight of people crying and I legitimately have no idea how any part of the female anatomy works, let alone their psyche. I mean, you saw Coach Taylor with Julie. Dude constantly looked like he brought a knife to a gun fight. My biggest hope is that I can channel my inner-Steve Martin in Father Of The Bride and I’ll just cry in the driveway while we play basketball together before she gets married by Franck, her eccentric European wedding planner played by a dude that looks like Martin Short.
“Wearing thongs constipates you which will, in return, make you fat.”
If I know one thing about pervy high school boys, it’s that seeing a whale tail pop out of a girl’s jeans is like crack cocaine to them. It gives them tunnel visions of hooking up in the back seat of their cars and fever dreams about getting to third base after prom at someone’s cottage. I may just force her to wear a morph suit under her clothes to school every day with the reasoning that it optimizes her muscles for whatever sport she decides to play (please don’t be softball, please don’t be softball, please don’t be softball).
“Oral sex makes your teeth fall out.”
I mean, hey, why not? It’s better than your daughter having a reputation as a Runaround Sue who’s just handing blowies after the basketball team wins regionals.
“The Kardashians were a social experiment conducted by the news media.”
If I give my daughter any inkling that acting like they do is appropriate, then I’ve completely failed as a father. Sex tapes, teenage lip injections, selfie books, the works. It’s all a bunch of hullabaloo that she shouldn’t concern herself with. I’m going to buy her Barbara Bush: A Memoir and make her recite passages from it before dinner every night.
“Katy Perry’s ‘Teenage Dream’ is about a girl who gets pregnant and eventually ends up homeless.”
I saw it on VH1’s Behind The Music, I swear.
Any song that has the word “teenage” in the title and says, “Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love,” has no place in the deFries household. She’s going to have an iPod touch full of The Mamas & The Papas (and the My Girl soundtrack for when she feels like dancing).
Don’t even get me started on this Nicki Minaj character. Her lyrics are downright nasty. Someone recently had to explain “truffle butter” to me and I threw up in my mouth a little. I may just Kimmy Schmidt her until I send her off to a private Division III Christian college where I’m an assistant football coach watching her every move from afar until she graduates and becomes a nun.
“Every photo you take on your iPhone shows up on our phone bill.”
This eliminates all selfies, nudes to her brace-faced twerp of a boyfriend, and anything else girls are taking photos of these days. There won’t be any Fappening under the deFries regime. When I was in high school, I had a sneaky suspicion that every text I sent showed up on my parent’s bill so I ran a tight ship when it came to text flirting with girls across the bay. I wasn’t about to have my mom quizzing me about why I was asking for HJs from the hot setter on the volleyball team.
“Make-up gives you pimples.”
To be completely honest, I always thought Rachael Leigh Cook looked hotter in She’s All That before Freddie Prinze Jr. tried to change her. I’m not trying to have some varsity athlete changing my little girl to fit what Maxim tells him is beautiful. I want a down to earth dude from the golf team just looking for a natural beauty with an A+ personality that she got from her father. This world is made up of FaceTune’d Kim Kardashians and Photoshopped swimsuit issues. I want my daughter to be a beacon of hope in a world filled with smoke and mirrors.
“Vodka makes you slutty.”
Okay, that one is definitely true, but she needs to be made aware. Too many girls learn the hard way. .
Enjoy this? Read Lies I’ll Tell My Son.
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