What is the rule?

Last night I had another one of those moments where I found myself in a situation I didn't want to be in wondering how the heck I got there.

The realization hit me as I watched my 72 year-old, four-foot tall, 80 pound, chain-smoking, haven't-seen-since-I-was-six, paternal aunt sitting across the table gnawing on a pork rib. Somewhere between fascination, disgust and wondering when her dentures would fall out and what I would do if they did, I realized I didn't know why I was sitting there attempting to make conversation with a stranger who claimed she loved me.

Next to me was biodad, slamming back scotch on the rocks faster than the waitress could bring them. His sister had come to visit and he was trying to pretend like everyone was close and family-like out here in California. Unfortunately, of his four kids I was the only one gullible enough to show for the family dinner. When people get old they get lonely and try to make up for being so selfish in life by planning things like this and then they wonder why no one cares. It's really quite sad when you think about it.

I have't been so uncomfortable at dinner since my days of internet dating. I kept trying to make conversation but had nothing in common with either of these two, sad people. They just kept talking about where they had gone to dinner the previous night - right down to the salad dressing selection. It was Macaroni Grill for pete's sake! How much time can one spend discussing a Macaroni Grill meal? Forty-three minutes. Then it was on to cousins and relatives I've never met who apparantly spend much of their time inquiring about me, a person they've never met and certainly wouldn't recognize in a lineup at the trailer park. I guess it's nice that people in Gary, Indiana care about me.

Then old auntie began the death talk that consumes some older folks. She prattled on about how terrible life was, how alone she is, and how she never really did anything or had any friends and now it's too late to make anything of herself. How do you respond to that? All I could do was hope she'd finish that rib she'd been working on and that the bar would cut off biodad so we could turn tail and get out of the place.

Eventually the evening came to an end. I let out a sigh of relief when the check arrived. Then that strange thing that happens when the check arrives and a group has just eaten and no one wants to pay - everyone ignored it. I live by that rule that if you invite someone to dinner, especially an out-of-the-way dinner, you pick up the check. Not true with biodad. I was on the inside of the booth, furthest away from the check, staring at it. He glanced from it to me and back a few times then made some comment about my being a rich lawyer and him being a poor retiree. So I grabbed the bill and handed over my credit card.

See, I don't mind paying if I invite people somewhere, or if it's something I've planned or even not planned but enjoyed. I often take folks, especially my mom, to dinner. But this dinner was all biodad's doing and I didn't want to be there. Add to that the death talk, false proclamations of strangers, and rib-gnawing, and I ought to have been paid to be there.

Good thing my mother has a sense of humor about biodad and was kind enough to leave a message on the machine when I got home: "Who paid for dinner? D and I have a bet going."