Friday, February 04, 2005


George Bush and I will travel to Asia later this month. We will check up on the progress that has been made in rebuilding the lives of the victims of the tsunami.

This trip couldn’t have come at a better time. I need some fresh air to breathe. I’m hearing wedding bells chiming ever nearer and I don’t like it one bit. And her mom isn’t helping either. She seems to have been charmed by the cad. They know I don’t like curly, so they’ve teamed up against me. They are cooking something, but I can’t just go to one of them and ask questions. I’m the father, they are supposed to come to me. Especially that mongoose. It’s his job to come to me and ask me for the hand of my daughter if that’s what is happening.

Hey, I tried to be nice. Hillary asked me and I tried. I asked them to come to the house a few days ago, so we could talk a little bit about his prospects. I mean his career. They came by. Curly was wearing sweatpants. Is that what you wear when you visit your future in-laws? Is that how you behave to impress your future in-laws? You wear sweatpants?

When I was dating Hillary and we visited her parents, I always wore a suit and a tie. Even long after we got married. Yes, Ma’am, yes Sir. That’s how it used to be. It was a sign of respect. And now I’m supposed to be happy giving my daughter away to a guy, who visits me wearing sweatpants? How can I trust him with my little sweetheart, when I can’t even trust him to wear normal pants?

Anybody wearing sweatpants, who isn’t jogging, has given up on life. Curly is in his twenties. He should be full of life. He should be exploding with energy and trying to make all my little girl’s dreams come true. But no, that is other people’s sons in laws. My future son in law wears sweatpants.

Hey, I give up. Don’t talk to me, don’t visit me. Just let me sit here all by my self in my barn-office. It’s just my daughter we’re talking about. I guess I’m the old man. A relic from the past. Nobody cares about my feelings.

I spent twenty years trying to put some sense in her head and she comes home with curly. What have I done wrong? For God’s sake, what have I done to deserve a future son in law, who visits me wearing sweatpants?

I give up.