Applebee's and Chili's are the restaurants of sadness and apathy. The emotion of Outback is rage. You're a 53 year old father of two working in commercial truck leasing. You've been working your ass off to repay the vacation money you took from the college fund, and you've been neglecting the wife. You want to give her a nice meal. She likes that guy from animal planet what got shish-kabobed by a stingray, so why not outback? You've been everywhere else in the last few years. She wants to spend eight American dollars on an onion, and you let her because the fucking point of the night is to make her happy, but you can't fucking stand it. The cheapest fucking vegetable in the world and she thinks it's god damn special. You both get steak. Your first bite tastes fine, but you keep chewing. You again continue chewing. You're genuinely confused by the amount of gristle still in your mouth. What few grains of beef that manage to slip out are more an insult than a reward. What the fuck are you supposed to do with the fucking gristle? You fake a cough and drop the wad of gristle on the ground so the wife doesn't complain about it being on your plate. That's when you see. She's staring at you. She doesn't know what to do with her own gristle, and she's noticed you somehow don't have gristle. Whatever she decides you did, you know you're not getting your blow job this month. The smug prick of a waiter offers you desert. It's probably some dumbass name like Kangaroo cheesecake, but you don't hear a word of it. The wife orders one for each of you. You drive home. She thanks you for taking her out. She goes to bed. You get a beer and turn on Fox News. You hear her softly crying, and you're just too fucking tired to care anymore. Maybe she'll fuck that guy from church again and get a little happiness in her life. All you know for sure is that Outback steakhouse should be burned to the ground.