Okay, I have to tell the story of the first dinner when my soon-to-be-husband and my father met:
My dad still lived in Houston at the time, and we went out to visit for a few days. Dad decides to take us to The Taste of Texas, which is a pretty decent steakhouse (kind of expensive and touristy, but not bad, either). Now, my husband comes from a family where everything was cooked to DEAD BLACK, with the thought if any pink showed, it was thought to cause immediate food poisoning.
He found out that tenderloin was also a very lean cut of meat, and being the fat-phobe he is, started to order filet mignons. Well done.
So, we're in the steakhouse, placing our orders, and my husband orders filet mignon. Well done, please. Our waiter, bless his heart, kept a straight face and asked if he'd like it butterflied, and my husband (who didn't know what "butterflied" meant, as I later found out), said no. I happened to look over at my father, who dropped his menu just enough for me to see his expression looked like this:
Then whispered, "it's a good thing he's a nice guy, else I'd have to run him out on a rail for doing that to a piece of good meat."
It took a few years, but I eventually convinced my husband that he won't die if he ate his steaks medium.