Well, maybe more than occasionally. I like modern furniture - chrome and glass. She likes early American. I like VH-1 and MTV. She grooves on James Galway. I read Maxim and laugh from cover to cover. She curls up with Vogue.

When we're on vacation, I'm perfectly happy heading to the beach or the golf course. She will seek out the nearest Nordstrom.  I enjoy "making the scene" in the hotel lobby bar, nursing a good cigar and a snifter of Remy XO. Kendall Jackson for her. I will leap out of bed in the morning at the crack of dawn; she will sleep to noon and order a ridiculously overpriced room service breakfast.

And then there's dining out. Pizza Hut is my speed. If we find ourselves in a fine restaurant, the prime rib will suit me to a tee. She will always get the salmon. And she will leave a 20% tip even if the waiter has dirt under his fingernails and drops a booger in our salads.

You can imagine what happened recently when our youngest daughter informed us that she had taken a job at that "Soon to be Almost Famous" restaurant chain, noted for its buffalo wings and orange- and white-clad female wait staff. You might say all of a sudden things got a little "bumpy" between us.

"She took a job where!" Like I had something to do with it. I mean, sure, my friends and I make the pilgrimage to the Inner Harbor every couple weeks, feasting on a generous plate of spicy wings, a few pitchers of Sam Adams, and maybe some curly fries. Then we pull out a Davidoff, light it up, and sit back and enjoy the sports overhead.

"I suppose you object to the bathing suits on the girls at the beach in Ocean City?" That argument never works.

"That's entirely different. Those girls are on a public beach. Nobody goes there just to leer at them."

"Of course not. But nobody goes to ogle the girls at the restaurant either. The food happens to be great. And I see families with mothers and kids there all the time." That argument never works either.

"I don't care. As a female I would never go in there. Besides, the one time I did you a favor and tried it, the wings sucked. They were dripping in grease."

"Well, that's true, dear. The wings were way too greasy that day. But I'm sure you've had a bad meal on occasion at Chez Pierre, too."

"That's different. Nobody's perfect."

Ignoring that, I ventured: "Thursday is my birthday and our daughter is working the 4-12 shift. I would like for us to visit her."

"No way! I'm not going into that strip joint, even if it is your birthday!!!"

"You know it's not a strip joint. That's ridiculous. The girls are dressed no differently than waitresses anywhere else. That kind of characterization is completely unfair!"

"I don't give a flying fig (comment slightly censored for the sake of our delicate readers) what you say, the place exploits women and as a feminist it is offensive to me. That's the bottom line!!"

"I see, " I said, realizing we were stuck in the same endless loop we always get into. "I suppose you never watch the Miss America Pagent either?"

"Don't get me started! A bunch of women parading around half naked in those swim suits and busting out of their revealing evening gowns!!! Give me a break!"

"But they have talent. They can sing, play piano, yodel even."

"Right, and I'm Marie Curie."

"OK. You don't have to go, but I still plan to have my periodic 'boy's night out,' even if our daughter is working that night," I said, seeking closure to this repeating theme.

"Fine. You can do what you want. But you're never going to drag me there!"

"You got it. By the way, where did you say you and Sherry are going tonight anyway?"

"The Avaitor Club. The Chip and Dales are performing for a girl's only audience. We're celebrating Sherry's newest contract success."

"Sounds great, dear. I'm staying home and rewiring the family room for that new TV. Call me when you get ready to leave."

"Don't wait up. We plan to get drunk and disorderly, hire a limo to take us to Sherry's and crash there."

"OK. Have a good time."

I was out the door right behind her. Suddenly I had a craving to snarf down a plate of "Three Mile Island" wings at the "Delightfully Tacky. Yet Unrefined" establishment where our daughter works.