Setting the Table

Dad has asked his GIRLFRIEND, JOANNE over for dinner and it's the day before the big date. He has never cooked a meal before in his life (true) and he keeps saying "I don't know why I shot my mouth off and asked her over for dinner. I just wanted her to see the backyard." He says he has been doing a lot of work in the backyard to keep himself busy. But every time I go to his house, the backyard seems to be accumulating more junk: potted plants, tables, chairs and even a few bicycles that I have never seen before. Perhaps the work that he is doing is collecting more junk. He was hoping that they could eat dinner outside, but the weather report is not looking promising.
When he calls me at work, my first question to him is:

"What are you going to cook for dinner?"
"Chicken"
"What kind of chicken?"
"Trader Joes chicken."
"Dad, there are about 5 zillion kinds of chicken at Trader Joes. What kind?"
"Chicken a'la orange."
"That sounds nice, what else are you going to have?"
"Maybe some ribs too."

Gasp! The idea of eating ribs on a date makes me cringe. My mom's favorite food was barbecued ribs, and she used to gnaw on those bones until there wasn't a morsel left. It was barbaric, and that is why my sister and I never eat ribs. The mere thought of eating a barbecued rib is horrifying to us. We found it interesting that my dad would choose this food for JOANNE, and I mentioned that it's gross to eat ribs on a date. My dad goes silent for about 10 seconds.

"Well, I like ribs. You don't have to eat them with your hands."
"Ok, well... what are you having for dessert?"
"Dessert? I didn't even think of that. Do I need dessert?"

I tell him that I think ladies like dessert, and since he continues to bring up JOANNE's affinity for eating and that she is mildly overweight, it seems like she would want dessert.

"Get a key lime pie or something while you are at Trader Joe's," I say.
"OK, bye."

Never one for long goodbyes, he hangs up the phone.

About 2 hours later, the phone rings again. My caller ID shows my dad's number.
I pick up the phone and before I can even finish saying hello, he says:

"We've got a real problem over here."
"What's wrong, Dad?"
"I don't know how to set the table."

Wow. It's hard to even imagine my dad setting a table, or wanting to set the table. Usually he stands over the sink with a paper towel, devouring whatever he can find in the refrigerator. A lot of people brought him food in the beginning. Casseroles, meatloafs, soups, unknown wierd foil covered dishes. But now the free food has tapered off and he has been on his own for quite some time. He talks frequently about purchasing "ham steaks". This is depressing to hear. (What is a ham steak? Where do you buy one? Why?)

"Dad, I am going to send you an email that will have a link in it. Click on the link and it will show you a picture of how to set the table. There will be directions for where to put everything."
"I don't see an email."
"I haven't sent it yet. As soon as I find some pictures for you, I'll send you one."
"I still don't see it."
"Dad, just wait a few minutes and the email will come. If you don't get it in 5 minutes, call me back."
"OK," he says. "And one more thing... How do you warm rolls??"

This seems tragic, imagining my dad trying to do all of this. On top of that, it's for some woman named JOANNE, who isn't our mom.