I went out to dinner on Saturday night with Richard and his new partner, who happens to be the most sober person I’ve ever met. If he were at a funeral directors’ party, he would be voted Most Depressing Person. So I’ll call him Captain Happy.

Richard and I agreed to meet in front of the restaurant, a fancy Thai place that foodies on the web rave about. The three of us arrived a few minutes before our reservation, so we chatted outside. I should say Richard and I chatted, while Captain Happy stood still with his hands behind his back, manservant-like.

Richard and I caught up quickly, reminding me of why I liked him so much. We agreed that Battlestar Galactica is the best show on television, but we disagreed on Bertha. He thinks I “completely misrepresented her” on my blog, while I suggested that perhaps he doesn’t know Bertha as well as he thinks he does. Captain Happy sniffed.

One of the things I like about Richard is that he can admit when he’s wrong. In fact, sometimes he’ll admit he’s wrong when he’s not.

The restaurant experience was miserable. First, they had no record of our reservation. I got upset, mostly because there’s not much to say other than, “But I called and made a reservation for 7:30!” The only thing you can do in that situation is to say it louder each time, which I did.

I was furious.

They finally seated us at a plain table that was right next to a table adorned with candles and flowers and elegantly folded napkins.

I asked the hostess seating us why our table wasn’t decorated. She didn’t speak good English, so it was difficult to talk to her. I think she said the other table was decorated for people with reservations, so I blew up. I demanded that napkins be brought to our table at once.

She seemed to agree, only she came back a couple minutes later with paper napkins. Like the kind you’d get at Hardees. I realized later that it was probably a misunderstanding – no one else had paper napkins – but I took it personally and got even madder.

Things went downhill from there. I don’t exactly recall what happened, but I know that I was asked several times to leave the restaurant. I shouted that I didn’t want to eat their rat-infested food anyway and stormed out, assuming that Richard and Captain Happy would join me shortly.

They didn’t. I waited outside for more than an hour before I left.

Now I regret agreeing to visit my sister. What was I thinking?