Last Saturday, my wife took me out to dinner. Ummm....On second thought, that isn't entirely accurate. We met a few of her friends for dinner over at Salvatoré's. That's a local Italian resto that's right smack in the middle of Angeles City's number one tourist attraction for Caucasian pensioners -- Fields Avenue.

I discovered this resto on our first date some 2 years ago. I non-chalantly asked my wife (still my prospective girlfiend back then) if she'd like to go to a movie with me some time. She said yes and we went to the theater without checking the movie scheds. Turned out the only "good" movie playing was Rush Hour 2. I say "good" because at the time, my wife had already seen it and she still insisted we watch it. Anyway, after the movie I asked if she wanted to have dinner with me. She recommended we go to a restaurant she frequented. That was the night I opened up my heart and life to her. Salvatoré's has since figured in most of our dinner dates.

It was nice coming back to Salvatoré's. I had been wanting to go there for a long time. My dietary restrictions have prevented that in the past. Being an Italian resto, almost all of the food they serve has either herbed tomato sauce or rich luscious creme. Both have been off my diet since January. I confessed the fact to her friends. They knew I loved tomatoes on pasta. It puzzled them that I ordered Carbonara (just egg, no creme).

Anyway, it was wonderful to be back in Salvatoré's. It did annoy me a bit that the waitresses seemed to prefer waiting on other tables, specifically ones seating geriatric geysers who were escorted by young "exotic" beauties. I felt that I was being treated like a second-class citizen in my own country. If tales of old are to be believed, this "racism" has been going on since Clarkfield and Subic were established.

What Irritated me more was a stare I got from a large 30-yr old German guy from the next table. Coming back from the restroom. I caught him eyeing me as I returned to our table. He was checking me out. A shudder went down my spine. I was having dinner with 4 women (one of them being my wife). He must've assumed I was gay. I almost scoffed aloud at the thought. Once seated, I was fighting off the urge to hurl invectives at him. Had he not been with an equally corpulent 6-ft tall compatriot, I would not have hesitated.

Distractions aside, we have a great evening. At least my wife's friends enjoyed my company. Don't know many married men who manage to do that.