Arnie and I went out to dinner tonight, to finish an argument that began earlier in the day.

The problem was solved, but not before we had some time to sternly whisper, use rigid, close-to-the-chest hand gestures, and occasionally eat raw cucumbers to fill pregnant pauses.

We were almost certain our waitress knew we were fighting. In fact, three other waitresses came by to make sure our food was ok. We couldn't figure out if our original waitress didn't want to deal with us, or if she was like. "You guys gotta see this."

After dinner and reconciliation, Arnie decided to write a note to the waitress, on the bottom of the check.

"We're doing okay. These things happen."

She took the check and we watched her walk away.

Arnie: I can't believe we did that.

Me: Oh no. What if she thinks we were talking about the food?

Arnie: Let's go!