What Would Doug Heffernan Do?

I'm changing channels on the not-too-obnoxious large flat screen when the clicker comes to rest on a Comedy Central special featuring Chris Rock.

Dressed 'fro to toe in black leather.

"Eeeeeeewwwwwww!" Thing 1 says through gritted teeth. "That's bad."

"Yeah. Only your Mom could pull off that look." I close my eyes. Mmmm. When will you return from Ahu Dhabi, hun? How many Cool Ranch Doritos can one speck on the map consume?

As I navigate to a safer fashion harbor, the diva-in-training speaks:

"They say it doesn't matter what you look like. It matters what's inside. Like, Drew in my class. He's snotty and gross. But we might actually have a lot of things in common. He might like the same shows and things that I do. But he doesn't. I should marry someone who's more my type."

[Ed. Note - "Snotty," in this usage, does not mean "snobby" or "uppity." It literally means "full of snot." I've meet the Drew in question before.]

The remote drops from my hand as I contemplate the wisdom of my 8-year-old. Did she actually take a break from transcribing every item from the American Girl mail-order catalog onto her "Christmas list" to ponder the depths of love and beauty?

"Um, actually that's really smart of you. You might be really attracted to someone at the start because they look good or dress well or smell like hazelnut and vanilla but they may be really rotten underneath. Like those carrots I tried to serve you and your brother for dinner tonight," I say. "Smothered in I Can't Believe It's Not Butter-y goodness on the outside, but old, brown and stinky on the inside."

She shoots me a quizzical look.

"Or someone could look like me," I continue, "and still be really cool and lovable."

"You are not cool. You're Dad."

"But I'm a good guy despite that, the love handles and the failure to shave regularly, right?"

"Kinda."

Little victory for me. I'll take it.

We settle on a "King of Queens" rerun. This is perfect. Carrie, even in the flabbier, post-pregnancy seasons, was a total babe, despite the New Yawk accent. But, let's face it, inside she's pretty ... evil. She's scheming, she's a hypocrite, she really beats down on her well-meaning, yet unambitious marshmallow hubby. (And in real life, she's a Scientologist known to travel with the Suri Cruise crowd. Scaaaaa-reeeee.)

Doug, meanwhile, is a classic TV dad ... but without kids. A bumbling immature man with no drive unless it involves a destination in front of a plate of hot wings. But one with a heart of gold for the most part. An enlarged, cholesterol-blocked, heart of gold but nonetheless. For example, he kicked weakest-link Carrie off the bowling team to try to bring them a championship, then was so guilt stricken he became the gutter-baller himself. He ended up quitting in disgrace and in disgust over what he had done to his wife.

How would Doug handle this conversation with Thing 1? I don't know, but it would probably start over a box of Hot Pockets.

"So," I venture, "who bestowed you with such wisdom at such a young age?"

"Huh?"

"Where did you learn this from, midget?"

"TV," she smiles.

"What show?"

"'The Suite Life of Zack & Cody.'"

Maybe I need to start paying more attention to what the twins' spiky-haired TV Mom has got going on. She might teach me a thing or two.

Say, do we have any Hot Pockets?

You can find more sitcom-like babes and hunks over at this site.