I warned my twelve-year-old son against ever associating with HDBs, that it would make an enormous difference in his life for better or for worse. What I told him, specifically, was that as a young adult he had two things to worry about — not making enough money, or making too much money and losing it all through a HDB. Guess which one happened to his old man.

He found the three-letter acronym enormously entertaining and he cannot believe I haven’t blogged about it yet.

And I wouldn’t, but it seems Daphne is running into those aspects of parenthood I’m dreading most. Fruit of thy womb, seed of thy loins, starts mixing bodily fluids with the High Drama Bitch.

Invite her over for dinner, Michael.

I don’t think so, Mom.

You’re practically living with the woman, bring her to the house.

It’s not that serious, besides she’s kind of insane.

You’re dating a crazy woman? What in the hell’s wrong with you?

She’s smokin’ hot, Mom. Besides she’s nice when she’s not throwing shit or screaming.

Just because of “reality teevee,” this is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. RTV and HDB go together hand-in-hand; low-drama people are not fun to watch. People who are on RTV, are HDBs; people who watch RTV turn into HDBs.

RTV is just one minute of something happening, and then another nine minutes of “When X happened, it made me feel…” Low-drama people — people who actually get constructive things done, ladies you would be proud to bring home to your mother — do not talk like this.