Come the 23rd of this month, Robert Palmer will have been dead for twenty years.* We can miss him while at the same time being grateful that he did not live to see one of his most iconic songs being used to sell bowls of warm carbohydrates and fat sprinkled with flavorless vegetables to people who want a dining experience somewhere between McDonald's and Ruth's Chris. A song about a guy who realizes that a girl he once barely noticed is now someone he cannot live without because she is Simply Irresistible.
Here's a clue: if you ever find the blandness of Applebee's (heck, they don't even have big screen tvs- you can eat exactly the same food AND be distracted by a football game if you just go to Buffalo Wild Wings) "simply irresistible," I suggest you seek therapy. Or consider a Taste Implant. Or just admit that you were raised in a lily-white suburb by a society that taught you to view restaurants like Applebee's as the affordable way to eat out using actual utensils.
*so where did the royalty money go? His heirs, or the people who bought the rights to Mr. Palmer's songs from those heirs? I don't really care, but there is some comfort in knowing that Palmer himself didn't sell out.