On Monday nights, driving home from choir, my father and I discuss what show my mom will currently be watching. Dancing with the Stars is a big one, or whatever comedy sitcom our crappy TV receiver managed to find. Lately, my mom has been all about the Bachelor [who really needs to wash his hair].
This past week:
“Dad,” I tell him. “We actually got out of choir on time. We might get to see who the Bachelor picks.”
“Is that still on?” He asks me.
“Tonight’s the last show,” I tell him. “Then Mom will be watching Dancing with the Stars.”
“Is the mean girl [Courtney] still on?”
“She’ll win. That will get much better ratings.”
You win, Dad.
We get home in time to see the aftershow. Courtney won. Apparently Ben cheated on her. My father blamed it on his hormones, and asked WHY she would pick a man that screwed her over on national tv, and WHY he would choose to stay with a girl who was such a bitch on national tv.
“You know Dad,” I tell him. “maybe I should be the next bachelorette, but I’ll just let you give out all my roses since you make much better decisions than these idiots.”He laughs at me. “You haven’t let me be involved in any of your boyfriend decisions at all before this, why start now?”
“Because you’re much more cynical than I am.” I’m invested in this idea now. “You’d make great decisions. IN FACT…”
“You would TOTALLY give out clocks instead of roses. It’s a win-win.”
Dad laughs. He was born in the 1940’s and loves clocks. The kind that tick, that you have to wind, that lots of times he buys broken and has to fix. He’s been buying clocks since he was a teenager, and seriously just loves clocks. My entire house ticks. I can tell wheels are already turning in his head as to HOW MANY cuckoo clocks he could buy if ABC picked up this show.
Then he explains his real conundrum with my plan. “I don’t know if I would want to give away the clocks.”
It’s a cog in the works, to go with the clock theme. “But then I’d be single the rest of my life if you never gave out a clock. NO ONE WOULD STAND A CHANCE.”
My dad is silent. I can tell he secretly is wondering if he can keep me single and in his house forever.
“What if you took back the clock instead of handing them out?” I ask.
My mom is now involved in the conversation, and by involved, I mean she is glaring at me for giving my father the potential to buy more clocks.
“No more clocks.” She says.
“But Mom,” I argue. “This show would be GOLDEN. Who DOESN’T love an old man trying to find his daughter a good husband?!”
“No more clocks!”
“He could take the clock back and tell them, ‘My daughter no longer has time for you!'” I’m on a roll.
“NO MORE CLOCKS.”
“Then we could send them off in rickshaws because we are a bicycling family and NO ONE GETS A LIMO when they just got sent off reality tv.”
“NO MORE CLOCKS!!”
I look at my dad for support. He’s been quiet for this, pondering something or other.
“…What kind of cuckoo clocks would we get?”
Be the next bachelorette: http://www.zazzle.com/the_bachelorette_s_bicycling_clock_fixing_beard_tshirt-235221126772401389