No cryptic, witty, or double-meaning title necessary this time, as this very well exceeds any need for one. I've played the escort before, but this was my first honest-to-goodness date.

Saturday evening, Amanda & I went on what could only be described as an [epic at the end] adventure. We went to Lakeview (northwest New Orleans) to eat at Landry's seafood, on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain.

We got there at about 7:40, and were told that it'd be a 30-45 minute wait. No worries, as it was a lovely, almost bearable evening on the lakeshore. The beautiful sunset, the waves from the wakes of boats coming out of the marina gently lapping on the concrete steps (except the speedboat: that wake didn't lap gently), the jumping fish, the wonderful company, it was lovely.

We enjoyed this until about 10 after 8, at which point air conditioning became more important than scenery, and proximity to the restaurant than losing the place in the light-up pager line.

We got a booth inside at 8:25, give or take. This is important because they do have outside seating. We were kind of hoping to get something outside to continue to take in the view, but it was not to be.

By the time our appetizer arrived, there were a few more people inside at the waiting area: not only was it later in the evening (and business was thus picking up), but a thunderstorm had come in off the lake, and soon, everyone that had an outside table was now inside, waiting to be reseated.

We were eating (she had stuffed shrimp, I had the special: boiled shrimp & king crab), and the storm had not let up: there was even a girl who may or may not have slipped on the wet decking outside the front door. (Because the restaurant is outside the levee's protection, it is built on piers, and the door is 18 feet above the ground.

All through the meal, we're interrupted by lightning, and we wisely slowed our eating pace in hopes of waiting out the persistent monsoon outside.

It's now after 10 o'clock, and we're stuffed by the Bananas Foster crepes (dessert) in front of us, that we more or less ordered to justify not leaving. The check is closed and paid, and the rain still hasn't stopped. If anything, it's picked up to steady sheets off the lake. I can't stand it anymore, and volunteer to go retrieve the car, parked 330 rainsoaked yards (meters) away.

The entire trip across the parking lot and West End Boulevard, I was part laughing, part yelling like the loony I was acting.

For the first time ever, I had to use the red "panic" button to locate my car, as it was sufficiently wet & dark that I could not recognize my Malibu from a shadow. I got in and closed the door as quickly as possible, and drove to pick up Amanda at the door. She still got wet, as she had to go down two flights of stairs to get there.

Further inspection of my clothing revealed a solitary dry section on my person: the seat of my pants.

Moral of this story: if you're going to eat out in Louisiana, don't leave the umbrella in the car. If there's not a cloud in the sky, that's all the more reason to bring it.

On a side note, whenever Amanda takes my hand, I get this uncontrollable, goofy smile, like I'm the luckiest guy on the face of the earth or something. Is that normal?

-KIE