I don’t hate couples. I used to be a third of one—me, my girlfriend, and the guy she was cheating on me with. But I’ve never been so pathetic as
to resort to this public display of affection.

The whole ordeal is entirely awkward. Eye contact is almost impossible when having a conversation unless one of you is sitting with their head cocked at a ninety
degree angle. When the waitress carries out the food, instead of being able to spread out and eat, the couple is forced into cramped quarters with plates, cups, greasy fries,
and well-done Salisbury steaks. Furthermore, all the patrons around you are staring at you and your pathetic attempt to make sure the entire restaurant knows you’re doing
Helen the Bearded Butcher.

Meanwhile, there is an entirely empty opposite side of the table. That is the job of a table: to hold things and make things convenient for us humans. Is it
really fair for two people who can’t seem to stop groping each other deprive a table of its one joy in life? No, it’s not. And it’s not fair for two people to
make paying Denny’s customers sit and watch you spoon feed Helen tapioca pudding, either.

Sit on the other side.