When Sally's steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, "Sally, please, don't give the waiter a hard time."

She said, "Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

I said, "Don't be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car'll never be safe in this town."

"I don't care if he's a Swat Team coordinator for the B'nai Brith," she replied angrily. "That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back." Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortunte

We often hear of relationships which start out bad but straighten out in the end. We even hear of relationships which start out good but then turn sour. But when a relationship starts off with all the romantic overtones of a documentary on the Asian flu, develops with the smoothness of an intoxicated chimpanzee doing a waltz on roller skates, then blossoms with the colorful brilliance of a malnourished vegetable, you know something's wrong. Such was my nine-month relationship with Sally. (Sally was not her real name. But that didn't come as a terrible shock, since her age and hair color weren't real either.)

That we were headed for rough times, was somewhat obvious on our first date. We had just seen a Broadway musical. Walking towards the car, I tried starting a conversation somewhere along the lines of "music," "dance," "scenery." How I failed so miserably I'll never know. Instead, she asked me if I could do her a favor and take her dog to the veterinarian the next day. I said, "But we hardly know each other."

She said, "So? Does my dog have to suffer because we hardly know each other?"

As we drove to a restaurant, I sensed her attitude turning somewhat hostile. I started feeling guilty about not agreeing to take her dog to the vet. Her dog, I said to myself, probably had two broken hind legs, and Sally probably had to visit a sick aunt in the hospital. How could I be so inconsiderate? But when I found out her dog was going in for his annual chest X-ray, and she had an appointment with her hair dresser, it made me furious. Was her hair more important than her dog's health? And I couldn't help wondering how, many packs a day did her dog smoke?

This is when it occurred to me that this date was not on the right track. Here we were between a play and a restaurant, and she was hostile and I was furious. I had a more cordial relationship with my parole officer.

I thought, maybe we ought to go back to her house, start the date over, and see if we can get it right. Then I realized what an unrealistic thought that was. What if her parents moved out while we were out on our date? She could become my responsibility. At least in the restaurant there was a chance she might fall in love with the waiter and I'll go home alone.

We headed straight for the restaurant.

I had a feeling the hostility did not end in the car. As we looked over the menu, she suggested I order large portions for myself. I asked, "Do I look that hungry?"

She said, "No, you look lean and undernourished."

I asked, "Why do you say that?"

She said, "Your toupee is loose."

"I don't wear a toupee. My hair is just a little messed up from keeping the car window open."

"Well, my ex-husband wore a toupee and he looked just like that."

"Like what? Lean?"

"No, messed up."

"Where did he buy his toupee?" I asked. "In Mop-City?"

She replied, "Who cuts your hair? Jack the Ripper?"

And so, the mood was set for a romantic dinner. I ordered lamb chops, she ordered well-done steak. When we got our orders, she insisted her steak was not well-done and had the waiter take it back. While we waited for her steak, we tried discussing a topic which could not possibly lead to any kind of dispute or resentment -- we remained silent.

A couple sitting at the next table looked at us, obviously amused. I said to them, "Would you believe this is our first date?"

As they both laughed, the guy asked, "What would you two do if you were married?"

I replied, "We'd probably shoot Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles at each other."

When Sally's steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, "Sally, please, don't give the waiter a hard time."

She said, "Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

I said, "Don't be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car'll never be safe in this town."

"I don't care if he's a Swat Team coordinator for the B'nai Brith," she replied angrily. "That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back." Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortunte

She said, "So? Does my dog have to suffer because we hardly know each other?"

As we drove to a restaurant, I sensed her attitude turning somewhat hostile. I started feeling guilty about not agreeing to take her dog to the vet. Her dog, I said to myself, probably had two broken hind legs, and Sally probably had to visit a sick aunt in the hospital. How could I be so inconsiderate? But when I found out her dog was going in for his annual chest X-ray, and she had an appointment with her hair dresser, it made me furious. Was her hair more important than her dog's health? And I couldn't help wondering how, many packs a day did her dog smoke?

This is when it occurred to me that this date was not on the right track. Here we were between a play and a restaurant, and she was hostile and I was furious. I had a more cordial relationship with my parole officer.

I thought, maybe we ought to go back to her house, start the date over, and see if we can get it right. Then I realized what an unrealistic thought that was. What if her parents moved out while we were out on our date? She could become my responsibility. At least in the restaurant there was a chance she might fall in love with the waiter and I'll go home alone.

We headed straight for the restaurant.

I had a feeling the hostility did not end in the car. As we looked over the menu, she suggested I order large portions for myself. I asked, "Do I look that hungry?"

She said, "No, you look lean and undernourished."

I asked, "Why do you say that?"

She said, "Your toupee is loose."

"I don't wear a toupee. My hair is just a little messed up from keeping the car window open."

"Well, my ex-husband wore a toupee and he looked just like that."

"Like what? Lean?"

"No, messed up."

"Where did he buy his toupee?" I asked. "In Mop-City?"

She replied, "Who cuts your hair? Jack the Ripper?"

And so, the mood was set for a romantic dinner. I ordered lamb chops, she ordered well-done steak. When we got our orders, she insisted her steak was not well-done and had the waiter take it back. While we waited for her steak, we tried discussing a topic which could not possibly lead to any kind of dispute or resentment -- we remained silent.

A couple sitting at the next table looked at us, obviously amused. I said to them, "Would you believe this is our first date?"

As they both laughed, the guy asked, "What would you two do if you were married?"

I replied, "We'd probably shoot Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles at each other."

When Sally's steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, "Sally, please, don't give the waiter a hard time."

She said, "Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

I said, "Don't be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car'll never be safe in this town."

"I don't care if he's a Swat Team coordinator for the B'nai Brith," she replied angrily. "That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back." Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortunte

I thought, maybe we ought to go back to her house, start the date over, and see if we can get it right. Then I realized what an unrealistic thought that was. What if her parents moved out while we were out on our date? She could become my responsibility. At least in the restaurant there was a chance she might fall in love with the waiter and I'll go home alone.

We headed straight for the restaurant.

I had a feeling the hostility did not end in the car. As we looked over the menu, she suggested I order large portions for myself. I asked, "Do I look that hungry?"

She said, "No, you look lean and undernourished."

I asked, "Why do you say that?"

She said, "Your toupee is loose."

"I don't wear a toupee. My hair is just a little messed up from keeping the car window open."

"Well, my ex-husband wore a toupee and he looked just like that."

"Like what? Lean?"

"No, messed up."

"Where did he buy his toupee?" I asked. "In Mop-City?"

She replied, "Who cuts your hair? Jack the Ripper?"

And so, the mood was set for a romantic dinner. I ordered lamb chops, she ordered well-done steak. When we got our orders, she insisted her steak was not well-done and had the waiter take it back. While we waited for her steak, we tried discussing a topic which could not possibly lead to any kind of dispute or resentment -- we remained silent.

A couple sitting at the next table looked at us, obviously amused. I said to them, "Would you believe this is our first date?"

As they both laughed, the guy asked, "What would you two do if you were married?"

I replied, "We'd probably shoot Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles at each other."

When Sally's steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, "Sally, please, don't give the waiter a hard time."

She said, "Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

I said, "Don't be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car'll never be safe in this town."

"I don't care if he's a Swat Team coordinator for the B'nai Brith," she replied angrily. "That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back." Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortunte

"Well, my ex-husband wore a toupee and he looked just like that."

"Like what? Lean?"

"No, messed up."

"Where did he buy his toupee?" I asked. "In Mop-City?"

She replied, "Who cuts your hair? Jack the Ripper?"

And so, the mood was set for a romantic dinner. I ordered lamb chops, she ordered well-done steak. When we got our orders, she insisted her steak was not well-done and had the waiter take it back. While we waited for her steak, we tried discussing a topic which could not possibly lead to any kind of dispute or resentment -- we remained silent.

A couple sitting at the next table looked at us, obviously amused. I said to them, "Would you believe this is our first date?"

As they both laughed, the guy asked, "What would you two do if you were married?"

I replied, "We'd probably shoot Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles at each other."

When Sally's steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, "Sally, please, don't give the waiter a hard time."

She said, "Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

I said, "Don't be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car'll never be safe in this town."

"I don't care if he's a Swat Team coordinator for the B'nai Brith," she replied angrily. "That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back." Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortunte

When Sally's steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, "Sally, please, don't give the waiter a hard time."

She said, "Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

I said, "Don't be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car'll never be safe in this town."

"I don't care if he's a Swat Team coordinator for the B'nai Brith," she replied angrily. "That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back." Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortuntely rather slim.

As the waiter grudgingly took back Sally's steak once more, I knew I must be strong enough not to let little setbacks turn into major obstacles. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel. We were still on good terms with the busboy.

In a short few minutes our waiter returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two plates. One plate contained a small stack of ashes, the other plate contained a steak and a blow torch. He leaned over and said to Sally with a smirk, "Which one would you like? This one," pointing to the plate with ashes, "is already well-done, and this one," pointing to the other plate, "you have to well-do yourself."

In disgust, Sally turned to me, "Do you believe this?"

I said, "Take the ashes -- the blow torch is extra."

Our meal up until this point raised some serious questions in my mind: If a date ends between the main course and dessert, does the guy have to pay the entire check? If he does, does this restaurant have a back exit?

When I finally did pay the check at the end of the meal, I got this strange feeling that the owner wanted us as far away from his restaurant as possible -- I got my change in Mexican currency.

Believe it or not, this date had a happy ending. I finally took Sally home -- and her parents were there! I was never so happy to see a girl's parents wait up for her. And I didn't even mind hearing her father, who was apparently used to her coming home earlier, say, "You should've been home an hour ago."

I was tempted to add, We should've been home four hours ago.

Strangely, I called her again only a week later. Despite all the things our first date left to be desired, one thing it was not -- dull. And that ain't small potatoes.

Three months later, we were still trying to get that first date right. Depending on how you look at it, things got a lot worse or very exciting. Agreeing on what to do on a night out always turned into something between a legal litigation and the Jerry Spriger Show.

On one particular rainy Saturday night I decided, rather than make the first suggestion as to where we should go, and start an argument, I'd leave everything up to Sally. The moment I stepped into her house, I said, "Tonight we go anywhere you want to go."

She asked, "Anywhere?"

I said, "Anywhere."

She shocked me with, "I want to go wherever you want to go."

I said, "Look, if you're not feeling well we can stay home and watch TV."

"No, I'm feeling okay. Anywhere you want to go is fine."

"Okay, let's go bowling."

She gave me a funny look, "Bowling?"

"Yes, tonight's a good night for bowling."

"You're in a mood to go bowling?"

"I thought you want to go wherever I want to go."

"I do. I just want to make sure that that's where you want to go?"

"Yes," I replied, "that's where I want to go."

"On a night like this?!" she screamed. "It's raining and disgusting out there!"

"Bowling is indoors!"

After several moments of silence, she said, "Why don't we go to a movie?"

Sarcastically, I said, "We can't go to a movie. My dentist says I shouldn't eat popcorn."

"Who says you have to eat popcorn? Why don't you suck a toasted marshmallow?"

By the time we finally left her house, half the night was gone and we were no closer to a decision as to where to go. The only reason we left was because we couldn't even agree on which room to argue in.

Driving while engaged in a heated debate and having no idea where you're going is next to impossible. You begin seeing every corner as a logistical