By flhshvlhed

For those of you that have been around for a long time and those not so long, you know that since May 95, it’s been just my daughter and I, and I’m somewhat akin to a sow grizzly in attempting to protect and shelter her from all of life’s trials and tribulations. Whether it be from protecting her when little from the older kids on the play ground, or various other things, such as not touching a hot pot or placing your tongue on something metal at -20 deg F.

Well – upon my return from my time in Afghanistan, I came to realize that I needed to shift my focus from the possibility of her leaving a chunk of her tongue on the stop sign at her bus stop during to the dead of winter, (just so that she could confirm or deny what I had told her numerous times), to more pressing issues. Namely, some of these issues involved little adolescent hormonally raging young whore dogs that are starting to call the house, and (thank goodness for them), not attempting to come by my house. Well – this past weekend was the "Jr/Sr Prom". Initially she had decided that her and some other girls were going to attend it together, and just have a night of "kicking it" w/ her "peeps" or whatever teenager girls do at proms these days. Anyway – her plans were changed about 2 wks prior, due to some hormonally ridden young whore dog teenager deciding that he wanted to take my little baby to the prom, (the very thing that I hold more dear to me than life). Well – although I attempted to dissuade her by offering her all sorts of gifts and such, she wasn’t having any of it.

Throughout the time leading up to this, she kept begging, pleading, telling, demanding me to "Daddy – be nice!!!". She had already stated that she had no intentions w/ this young male and I tended to believe the apple of my eye. HOWEVER – for this hormonally ridden young whore dog teenager male, I was somewhat (ok – very) skeptical. Thus I set about attempting to place some fear in his heart, for having the audacity to take my little baby to the prom, all the while, without causing her to have any outward embarrassment or having to listen her bust my stones. Approximately a week or so prior to the prom, she had already made mention that he had asked her "Does you dad have any guns?". She kind of laughed, then he remembered that I had retired from the army and answered his own question by saying – "Of course he has guns – he retired from the army!".

Well – fast forward to the day of the prom. The agreed time for this hormonally ridden young whore dog teenager to arrive at the house is quickly approaching. I’ve had to drop my little baby off in town, so that she can get her hair done, get her nails done, and for one of her little friends to do her make up. I then had to drive back into town to pick up my little baby, who now has somehow been transformed into someone that I’m not sure who she was. She has miraculously been transformed into a young lady in a matter of a couple of hours. I then bring her back to the house, so that she can put on this dress (180 bucks worth I might add!!!), and get ready for the night of "festivities". Well as my little baby is putting on this dress (which looks more like it should have been on someone that was attending the Academy Awards, than on my little baby. This is the same child that’s been riding a Harley since she was 3, and used to play w/ mud pies – anyway – now she’s in an evening gown!!!!)

Anyway – I digress – back to the impending hit time. As I’m sitting there deviously attempting to find a way to put the fear of, whatever deity this hormonally ridden young whore dog teenager adheres to, it occurs to me that I can do this, and she would never notice it. I go to the safe, grab my Kimber 45 and 2 mags. I also grab a belt holster and mag holder for it and then I arrange a little "shrine" to emphasize the point for which I am unable to verbally express to this young "person". I artfully place a picture of her when she was about 4 yrs old, then in front of it, I place the 45 w/ mags and a big folding knife in front of the pic. I thought that this pretty well made a statement without me having to say much.

The above mentioned hormonally ridden young whore dog teenager arrives at the house. It’s approximately 1630. By this time – I have been partaking in the "spirits" for about 2 hours, due to my not being particularly comfortable with my baby going out with this person (or any other for that matter – but that’s another story). I let him ring the doorbell a couple of times, before I answer it. Thank goodness for him, he "appears" to be a gentleman. I had forewarned her, that he if he pulled up and blew the horn – he had better be delivering a damn pizza! Anyway he comes in the house and fumbles through the formality of giving my little baby a corsage. THANK GOD for him, he didn’t get the one that is pinned onto the dress!! Apparently, he thought better of this, and bought the one that goes on the wrist. Now comes the time for her to put his on. She is unable to figure it out, thus she asks for me to put it on his lapel. I swear – I don’t think you could have drove a nail up his ass with a jack hammer!!! To say that this young hormonally ridden young whore dog teenager was apprehensive, is to put it mildly. Anyway, I battled through my alcohol induced urge to drive this 3" stick pin into his carotid artery, and successfully completed the task. (He did tell her later on, that he was "nervous" about me being so close to his neck with that stick pin).

After this is completed, I tell them that I need to take some pictures. It just so happens that I had placed the camera on the counter, right next to my little baby’s shrine. So – after the obligatory pictures, I then tell him that I had some paperwork that I needed for him to full out. Thanks to a friend emailing me the "Application for Permission to Date My Daughter" – I had printed it off and handed it to him to fill out. As he’s reading through it, I’m am standing there w/ a straight face. Well – my daughter wouldn’t let him fill it out, and said that they had to go.

As they were walking out to the car, he gets in his side, and she gets in on her side, without doing the chivalrous duty of opening her door for her. Not missing a beat, I called her, and asked her why he didn’t open the door for her (they were still in the driveway). She didn’t know how to respond, and replied she loved me, and would be good.

So – in summation, I ask you guys and girls – do you think I was over the top by constructing my shrine for my little girl?


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