The New York Times highlights the hazards of dating when you have a teenage daughter.
Jay Allison writes (excerpt):
Lillie: Is she one of the first five people I would guess? Is she Madonna or Britney Spears? Is she my English teacher? Does she have a gut? Is she good at poker? What’s on her iPod? Do you even know her last name? Does she have any scars?
Jay: You haven’t asked if she has a tattoo.
Lillie: Well, does she? Does she know you have a long hair on your nose? Does she work in public radio? Does she know whom she’s messing with? Does she wear glasses? Is she a pothead, an alcoholic, a psycho? Does she play games with your heart? Did you watch the sun set over a lake? Did the night watchman catch you hooking up? Does she wear hats? Does she know Britney Spears? Can she get me tickets? Is she good for things like that?
Jay: It was just a date, you know. . . .
Lillie: She’s not a Yankees fan, is she? Is she one of your old girlfriends, like the freckly one from ”Indiana Jones”? Does she kiss on the first date? Would she like me? Is she taller than me?
Jay: I’ll tell you one thing. We drove on Route 35, I’m not saying what state that’s in, and there was no one around, and it was late at night and rainy. We stopped the car and turned up the radio and danced in the road.
Lillie: High five! Well, as long as she makes you happy, Pa, I can’t hate her too much. . . . I can still egg her car, though.