The following story is true. I swear to God, Goddess, Allah, Buddha, Gilean, Torak, Princess Diana and Frank Sinatra. 

Last Saturday evening, I took my wife to dinner for her birthday. She decided she wanted to eat at her favorite steak place. And for that matter, mine too. We arrived shortly before five and I went straight to the guest registry and announced our intentions to dine at their fine establishment. Actually, I said "Table for two". I slipped her a dollar, hoping for a secluded table, perfect for quiet conversation. Ok, that part isn't true. I didn't say "table for two."

My wife and I were standing in a crowd, waiting for them to find the cheapo-area of the restaurant. It was then that I remembered I was wearing a Tigers baseball cap. I realize this doesn't look good for me to have on a baseball hat while taking my wife to a very nice restaurant. Especially when she was dressed very nice...as usual. Let me explain why:

We spent most of the day looking at a new home to purchase. In Michigan, the housing market is horrendous right now and $400,000 can get you $550,000 if you zealously negotiate. My idea was to look kind of "Walmartishly" in the hope that it would bring out a "Pretty Woman Julia Roberts-like" confrontation. The saleswoman would take one look at me and announce with a snobbish air: "The mobile home park is down the road two miles. Please leave now!"

And then I can pull out my awesome display of platinum cards and perfect credit score and say with scorn:

"Big mistake...big, big, mistake."

It was like clockwork. If my wife entered first; which she usually does because I always hold the door for her, the salespeople greet her with open arms. On the rare occasion that the salespeople see me first, they always seem to lean towards the phone, no doubt believing I'm about to strike at them. 

Back to the restaurant.....

I realized I'm wearing a baseball cap and fearing the onset of "hat-head", I quickly told my wife I was going to the men's room for a minute. I told her to wait where she was. I dashed off to the restroom where I spent the next few minutes trying to rub out the "hat-head" that so gruesomely appeared, as I expected.  When I returned to the waiting area, my wife was nowhere to be found. My first thought was that they brought her to our table and they would escort me now...sans the hat-head look. I mean really....you can't eat at a place like this wearing a hat! Unless your super-rich and don't give a damn. I think there was a trend for a while with rich young guys wearing baseball hats with sport jackets. I'm not sure though. 

I asked the lady at the podium thing if they had seated my wife. She said no so I assumed my wife went to the ladies room. I guess about five minutes went past and another woman came over to me and stated that our table was ready. I followed her to a very nice corner table away from the maddening crowd. "A dollar goes far in the current Michigan economy", I thought. I told her to let my wife know where I was.

After sitting down, the waiter came over and asked if I wanted a drink. I naturally said yes and also ordered one for my wife. Another few minutes passed and I began to wonder if my wife was sick or something. Maybe she had to go "number two" although I quickly brushed that aside. No man with such a vaunted view of women even thinks they go to the bathroom to poop. If they disappear into a room marked "Ladies", it's to mingle and bond with their fellow sisters of solidarity. I also hope it's to coordinate an attack on male chauvinism and take over the world. 

By the time the waiter came back with our drinks, I was really worried. The waiter asked if anything was wrong and while looking past him out into the center of the room, I murmured that maybe she's divorcing me. He said "what"? I told him to forget it and asked if he would look around for her. I was beginning to get suspicious about something and needed help to confirm it. I said she was about five-four, blond hair and wearing a black sweater. He made off in pursuit of the "missing wife" when all of a sudden, I saw the familiar, hourglass form of my wife walking about twenty-feet away. She was holding a drink in her hand and wore a scowl on her pretty face. She saw me out of the corner of her eye. I thought she was going to kill me the way she moved toward me. 

She sat down and "quietly yelled": "What are you doing! I've been waiting for you for fifteen minutes! Why did you have to go to the bathroom right before sitting down!" I tried to explain between stutters that I couldn't eat in this kind of restaurant with hat-head. She gave me a withering look that soon melted when she realized what had just transpired. Then we both started laughing at the thought of the two of us, sitting at opposite ends of the restaurant, waiting for each other for what seemed like hours. I won't even comment on the complete ineptitude of the hostess and her cronies. And all because of the dreaded "hat-head". This is an absolutely true story.

Welcome to my life.