8 Simple Rules for Dating My Kid Sister

Hey boys, get out your Axe body spray and Applebees gift cards, my little sister is on the prowl.
For the first 23 years of my her life, she has stayed remarkably focused on her school studies and now her career. She's a cute girl and holds a couple of degrees. Any guy would be lucky to have her. But she's stayed away from the scene for whatever reason.
Until now.
You see, she made the big mistake of telling me that she's starting to date. She even solicited some advice from me. As if I know. I haven't dated since the nineties. My idea of a romantic night out was appetizers at the Ground Round and thumbing through the clearance bin at the used CD shop. That was cool then. I think. Now it's all Facebook and Napster and MySpace. I know nothing of these things.
Back then, my only access to the Internet was the free 3-month AOL subscription mailed to my parent's house on a trial disc. You had to change screen names every 90 days and steal a different credit card from dad's wallet each time, but it was totally worth it.
Now kid sister has put a profile on an Internet site and is finally starting to make some friends of the opposite sex. This has generated a lot of excitement about this in our family. All those awkward 'is she/isn't she?' moments can be laid to rest. Our ultraconservative parents can breathe a sigh of relief and feel totally comfortable when she shops at Eddie Bauer with her unmarried twenty-something girlfriends.
And I instictively gave her some grief over the whole e-dating scene (Desperately seeking Desperate?), but that was more obligatory sibling ribbing than anything else. She's smart and careful, so I'm not concerned, but that doesn't mean that I can't still be fiercely protective of her.
So, potential suitors, how will this date go, you ask? Well, with your hands to yourself, preferably at church, thank you very much. Common sense goes a long way, fellas. Be mindful of this because you could start in the backseat of her car and end up in the trunk of mine real quick.
But there's absolutely nothing wrong with, oh say, riding matching penny-farthings around the local police station parking lot while remaining three arm-lenths apart followed by a quiet picnic lunch in my backyard. With me there in-between keeping watch. I like pimiento loaf. Make a note of it. Bring some.
But while you're planning your well-lit, chaperoned evening, consider the following parable. Actually it's not a parable, because it's true. But you'll get my point soon enough:

When I was around 10 years old, I bashed my little sister in the face with an aluminum baseball bat. It was a complete accident - she stepped into my swing as I was goofing around practicing. Blood was everywhere; I was sure I'd killed her or permanantly scrambled her brains. I didn't, but I felt truly awful. Still do.
Two decades and dozens of stitches later, she's no worse for the wear. But she still has a hint of a scar between the bridge of her nose and her eye socket.
So, pure-minded potential brother-in-law, as you gaze into her eyes on a date, let that small reminder of a scar serve notice: I'm 18 years older and stronger, I still have the bat, and I'm not afraid to use it. That incident may have been unintentional, but you hurt her and you'll meet the business end of that same slugger.
So have fun!
And have her home by 8:30.