Silva.

"It's official," I said, as I morosely picked at the salad before me. "I'm in hell."

You certainly couldn't fault the company, because if I was going to end up in the great fiery down under, I could think of no better. Corb, the kids, his mother and grandmother, and even Josie had asked to come along for the ride. But from the moment we had been seated at our too-cozy table for seven, this dinner had quickly devolved into the most miserable eating experience. EVER.

(DISCLAIMER: Well, unless you're considering that guy who had his brain eaten, sliver by sliver, in the movie Hannibal. I dare say that was a fairly miserable eating experience, too...)

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