THE RULES
1. The Female always makes THE RULES.
2. THE RULES are subject to change without notice.
3. No Male can possible know all THE RULES.
4. If the Female suspects the Male knows all THE RULES, she must immediately
change some of THE RULES.
5. The Female is never wrong.
6. If it appears the Female is wrong, it is because of a flagrant
misunderstanding caused by something the Male did or said wrong.
7. If Rule #6 applies, the Male must apologize immediately for causing the
misunderstanding.
8. The Female can change her mind at any time.
9. The Male must never change his mind without the express written consent of
The Female.
10. The Female has every right to be angry or upset at any time.
11. The Male must remain calm at all times, unless the Female wants him to be
angry or upset.
12. The Female must, under no circumstances, let the Male know whether she
wants him to be angry or upset.
13. The Male is expected to read the mind of the Female at all times.
14. At all times, what is important is what the Female meant, not what she
said.
15. If the Male doesn't abide by THE RULES, it is because he can't take the
heat, lacks backbone, and is a wimp.
16. If the Female has PMS, all THE RULES are null and void and the Male must
cater to her every whim.
17. Any attempt to document THE RULES could result in bodily harm.
18. If the Male, at any time, believes he is right, he must refer to Rule #5.
Remember
when eating out was a relaxing experience? Someone else cooked for you,
served you and cleaned up after you. All you had to do was chew, swallow
and pay. No longer, though. Today, you feel like a laboratory rat who has
to struggle through a maze every time it wants a chunk of cheese.
"Good evening," the maitre d' said, "table for four?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Smoking or non?"
"Nonsmoking."
"Would you prefer to dine indoors or outdoors this evening?"
"I guess indoors would be good."
"Very well, sir," he said, "would you like to be seated in the main
dining room, the enclosed patio, or our lovely solarium?"
"Uh, let me see ... uh ..."
"I can give you a table with a lovely view in our lovely solarium."
"I think the solarium would be lovely," I said.
We followed him there.
"Now, would you prefer a view overlooking the golf course, the sunset on
the lake or the majestic mountains to the West?"
"Whatever you recommend," I said.
Let *him* make a decision for a change, I thought.
He sat us by a window facing the golf course, lake or mountains. I couldn't
tell which because it was dark outside.
Then, a young man better dressed and better looking than any of us presented
himself at our table. "Good evening, my name
is Paul, and I'll be your waiter this evening. Would you like a few minutes
before I take your order?"
"No," I said, "I'm just a meat-and-potatoes guy, so I'll have the
filet mignon and a baked potato."
"Soup, or salad?"
"Salad."
"We have a mixed-green salad, hearts of palm, or a very fine endive salad
with baby shrimp."
"Just a mixed-green salad, okay?"
"Whatever you say, sir. Dressing?"
I didn't want to make another decision. "Whatever you've got will be
fine."
"We have creamy Italian, blue cheese, vinaigrette, thousand island, honey
Dijon and ranch."
"Just bring me one. Surprise me."
"Creamy Italian is our house specialty. Would that be all right,
sir?"
"Yeah."
I was curt. I was done with civility.
"And for your baked potato?"
I knew what was coming!
"I just want the baked potato dry, you understand? I don't want
anything on it."
"No butter? No sour cream?"
"No."
"No chives? No bacon chips?"
"No! Don't you understand English? I don't want anything on it.
Just bring me a baked potato and a steak!"
"Would you prefer the six, eight, or twelve ounce steak, sir?"
"Whatever."
"Would you like that rare, medium rare, medium, medium well or well
done? Or, if you prefer, we can butterfly it for you."
"Pauly Boy," I said, "you are really starting to get me steamed."
"Which brings up the vegetables, sir. Would you like steamed broccoli,
creamed corn, sauteed zucchini, or diced carrots?"
That did it. I threw my napkin to the floor, stood up, put my face right
in his arrogant kisser and said, "How'd you like to
settle this outside?"
"Fine with me, sir. Would you prefer the parking lot, the side alley
or the street in front of the restaurant?"
"I prefer right here."
Then I sucker-punched him.
He ducked, then countered with a left hook right under my eye. It was the first
time all night he hadn't offered me a selection.
I collapsed semiconscious into my chair, as someone in authority rushed over
and berated Pauly.
I felt my tie being loosened, my collar unbuttoned, hands slapping my
face. When I regained my senses, I saw the very concerned maitre d' right
in front of my nose. He apologized and offered to buy me a drink, call the
paramedics; whatever I wanted.
"No, no," I said, "I'll be all right. Just bring me a glass of
water."
"Yes, sir, right away," he said.
"Would you prefer imported mineral water, sparkling water, or club soda
with a wedge of lime?"