Back around Memorial Day, my big brother (the comedian of our brood) came over from the Bay Area to have dinner with the rest of the family; we organized a night out at Outback and I drove him, Uncle Woodrow and my niece Nikki up to White Plains where we were met by my sister and her husband. We sat down at a round table, made our orders and chatted while nibbling on seasoned wings and Bloomin' Onion...

I had ordered a Caesar salad to go with my meal, which always comes before the actual entree and sides, and I happened to look up at my brother who was waiting on another plate of wings and looking famished. I offered him some of my salad. He gave me a sidelong glance, his eyes darting between me and the plate of salad, his expression comically repulsed. I asked, "are you sure?"

He leered at me and replied, "I don't like salad... and don't wanna know anyone who does!"