8 Simple Rules For Dating My Teenage Daughter: And Other Tips From A Beleaguered Father (Not That Any Of Them Work)

8 Simple Rules For Dating My Teenage Daughter: And Other Tips From A Beleaguered Father (Not That Any Of Them Work)

  • Publish Date: 2001-04-01
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • Author: W. Bruce Cameron
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Workman Publishing Company
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Fathers may suspect it's not easy for their daughters to become women, but those same daughters have no idea how hard it is for fathers to stand by and watch. According to W. Bruce Cameron, "Having a child mutate into a teenager is a bit like being an airline passenger who must suddenly take over for a stricken pilot and land the plane. And in this case, the passengers are all yelling, 'I hate you! I hate you!' and slamming the door to the cockpit."

Cameron has two daughters, so he is doubly aware that raising teenage girls is well, impossible. He's been through braces (the most expensive metal on earth), kissing (do they have to use their lips?), teen "logic" ("I asked if I could go out with Lindsey and you said no, so I went out with Courtney"), and, of course, dating, which leads to the 8 Simple Rules. (Rule #1: if you pull into my driveway and honk, you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure as heck not picking anything up.)

If your little girl has moved out and a teenager has taken her place, this book will help you do something you probably thought was not possible in your situation: laugh.

A comic survival guide to being a parent of teenage daughters, Bruce Cameron's book started life in 1995 as a wildly, and accidentally, successful Internet column. In short, sharply observed vignettes, he touches a middle-aged-male nerve by describing the rage and bewilderment of having little girls turn into teenage monsters, but every complaint is punctured by a self-deprecating regular-guy-in-a-mad-world irony. There are helpful hints (or rather, unhelpful ones, because Cameron admits that nothing will make any difference) for coping with the telephone, clothes, parties, car you used to own, and boyfriend you don't want her to hang around with.

It's all rather reminiscent of Dave Barry, though of course Cameron's canvas is smaller, and for that reason alone, many readers will find that a whole book is a stretch. This is definitely a bathroom browse rather than material for reading cover to cover--assuming it's possible to get into the bathroom, that is; according to the author, this is a coveted parking space for strange aliens who paint themselves for hours while dreaming of Brad Pitt. --Richard Farr

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