Shoot, Shovel and Shut the Hell Up

Holly wrote in the comments section of my post about missing The Kid:

And that is a beautiful girl-child there, I hope your shotgun is in workin‘ order. She’s gonna be a heartbreaker for sure.

*grin* I always knew she was an uncommonly perceptive woman.

Let it be known to any single women out there – I’m available, and obviously I throw a pretty kid. I’m even partially housebroken.

You know what they say about your kids and dating – when you have a boy, that’s only one penis to keep track of. When you have a little girl, you have to keep track of them all.

Now, The Kid is not going to date until she’s thirty four, when I finally decide to release her from her hermetically sealed bubble room and let her see the world. So I have plenty of time to plan my strategy vis a vis allowing someone to date my daughter. It’s not that I don’t think she could take care of herself. I just live in fear of her meeting someone like…me.

And back in the day, I was a persuasive bastard.

So, I practice my lines, just like I rehearse what I’m going to say at a lecture or seminar. The scenario plays in my head something like this:

Suitor (looking suitably scrubbed and bearing flowers): Good evening Mr. AD! I’m Bobby and I’m here to take out your daughter!

Me: Welcome to my home, Billy. Come on in and sit a spell. The Kid is still putting on her face.

Suitor: Uh, it’s Bobby, sir.

Me: Don’t correct me, Barry. I’ve got pocket lint older than you. Have a seat and let’s chat. Hand me that can of Break Free and the chamber brush, would you?

Suitor: Yessir.

Me: (running a brush through the slug barrel of my 870) Why thank you, son. So, where are you kids going tonight?

Suitor:Well, I thought we’d go see a movie and grab a bite to eat.

Me: Excellent choice, Benny! There’s a Shrek marathon playing at the Cineplex. Last show lets out at 9:45. Have her home by 10 sharp. Say, hand me those patches, would you?

Suitor: Uhhhh…Shrek? Sir?

Me: Yeah Shrek, Blinky. You got something against PG rated movies? You a Goddamned sex crazed pervert or something??? Huh? HUH??? (Screws end cap on magazine tube and racks slide)

Suitor: No! I mean, no Sir! I, uh… I like Shrek! (gulping) Yessir, 10 sharp.

Me: Good answer, Bucky. Incidentally, did you know that slugs from shotguns are virtually untraceable?

Suitor: Untraceable, Sir?

Me: That’s what I said. You got wax in your ears, son? Yeah, as long as you pick up your brass and recover the sabot, there’s no way to trace the slug. No extractor marks, no telltale rifling marks. No nosy investigators wondering why my back lawn is so green and why my wood chipper is sitting disassembled in a vat of bleach.

Suitor: (laughing nervously) Oh, I get it , Sir…

Me: Get what, Boris? Are you laughing at me, boy? The last boyfriend laughed at me, too. Once. See that picture hanging on the wall behind you, son?

Suitor: The one with all the drunk looking guys holding weapons?

Me: Yeah, that’s the one. See the third guy from the left? The one with the beer can hat and the AK-47? He’s the lead investigator for the Coroner’s Office. Groomsman at my wedding, too. My little girl’s Godfather, even.

Suitor: Uuuhhhh…

Me: See the one holding the pistol to the head of the Tickle Me Elmo? Yeah him, the one with the deranged look in his eyes. The guy pretending to lick his face is his brother-in-law. When those two aren’t working as Sheriff’s deputies, they own a little dirt contracting business. They’re never too busy to loan a backhoe to a friend in need.

Suitor: Mr AD, I promise I’ll be on my best beh-

Me: Yep Bonzo, of all the lunatics there in my closest circle of friends, I’m the only one who isn’t a law enforcement officer. But we still think of each other as family. You know what I do for a living, right?

Suitor: Uh, a paramedic?

Me: That’s right, Biff. You’re not as dumb as you look. Yeah, I tell ya…I bring in dead bodies in to the Emergency Department all the time and they pretty much accept whatever story I give ’em. On the odd occasion where there is some question as to why the deceased got that way – like say, a tragic hunting accident involving a sixteen year old boy – my bestest buddy the Coroner’s Investigator takes over and decides whether an autopsy is warranted. Yeah him, the guy who swore an oath before God to protect my daughter should I not be able.

Suitor: 10 sharp, Sir?

Me: 10 sharp, Boopsie. You kids have fun.