The maitre d’ greeted us warmly and led us to a cozy corner table for two. The place was tastefully elegant, with soft lighting, exposed brick walls, and a bud vase of fresh cut orchids at our table.

As I sat down, the waistband of my jeans dug painfully into my gut, thanks to those five brownies and the Whopper I’d snarfed down earlier. Why the heck hadn’t I worn the elastic waist outfit I’d worn to SueEllen’s party? Oh, well. Maybe I could manage to sneak open the button on my waistband when Ted wasn’t looking.

Our waiter (a slim young man whom I’ll call Kevin because that’s what nine out of ten waiters in Los Angeles are called) slipped us our menus.

“You don’t mind if I order for both of us?” Ted asked.

“Yes, actually, I do mind. I don’t like it when people presume to know what I feel like eating.”

Of course, I didn’t say that. I didn’t have a chance to say that, because before I knew it, Ted was giving Kevin our order.

“We’ll share a cup of soup, and two coffees for dessert.”

Uh-oh. It was going to be an Arby’s night, after all.

“Haha! Gotcha!” he said, poking me most annoyingly in my ribs, and then adding, “Somebody at this table could stand to work on her abs.

“Actually,” he told Kevin, “we’ll have the lobster bisque, heirloom tomato salad, chateaubriand for two, and crème brulee for dessert. Make sure the soup is hot, really hot, and the steak is bloody rare. You like it rare, don’t you, Jaine?”

No, I don’t, but it didn’t matter, because he didn’t wait for me to answer.

“And bring us a bottle of the Jordan cabernet.”

I happened to know that the Jordan cab cost sixty dollars. You know how I happened to know? Because Ted told me.

“This wine costs sixty bucks,” he boomed, for all the world to hear.

It was a good thing I’d eaten that Whopper and five brownies. Because, as it turned out, Ted kept sending everything back. The soup was too cold, the salad was too warm, the wine was too “new,” and the steaks were too well done.

I was convinced that the chefs and waiters were lined up in the kitchen taking turns spitting in our food.

By the time our corrected dishes were finally brought out to us, I had totally lost what little appetite I’d started out with.

Yes, it was truly the Dinner from Hell. I’d long since popped the button on my waistband. I didn’t care whether or not Ted noticed. But he didn’t notice. He was too busy talking about his favorite topic—Ted.

I heard about his childhood, his adolescence, his college years, his three ex-wives (all of them bitches), and his career. Oh, did I hear about his career. I heard about every part he’d ever played, starting with the time he played a rutabaga in his kindergarten production of Our Vegetable Friends.