When you and your lover are quarreling, teetering on the edge of a dramatic break-up, I assume you do what any other rational, classy couple would do - you take that break-up to a dingy Mexican restaurant for all to see.
Let's dissect the dissolution as it happened before my very eyes. I'll give you a blow-by-blow of the grueling match.
In one corner of the ring we have Tito, a 5'6" lothario with the ego of someone at least 4" taller.
And in the other corner we have Rosie, a 5'7" Latina diva with curly hair so stiffened from shitty product that Russia is using her hairspray to euthanize stray homosexuals in Sochi.
"May I bring you anything to start?" I asked.
"Jussa new boyfriend..." Rosie said, arms folded, eyes rolling.
"Ha, women," Tito said, as stoned as a fast food employee during break. "Am I right bro?"
"No comment," I replied. "To drink?"
"Jussa give me some time, damn!" Rosie snapped.
"I'll take an 'Adios,'" Tito said.
"Oh so you gonna order before the lady?" Rosie said. "Damn, see? This is what I mean. So rude."
Round One goes to Rosie, who packed a TKO by presenting the valid point that Tito should have waited to order his drink, and also by being an intolerable skank.
Rosie's meds must have kicked in, because as soon as I returned with waters, she was sitting next to Tito and licking the inside of his ear. I wanted to stab out my eyes with her split ends.
They both ordered two "Adios," a cocktail filled with every abhorrent blue, sugary sweet liquor that no one with sleeves and a lack of gold teeth should ever order.
I soon learned that Rosie had cozied up to Tito because she wanted him to buy her a gold iPhone.
"Pleeeease?" she cooed in baby talk. "Then we could just move on."
"Nah," Tito said. "That's yo game. You get mad, make me feel guilty, then ask me to buy something."
He took a sip of his Adios as Rosie dramatically returned to her side of the booth, arms folded, eyes rolling.
Round Two goes to Tito, who narrowly but smartly avoided Rosie's predictable maneuver of turning shit-talking into shopping.
It really hit the fan before anyone had a chance to order food. I returned with their unsavory beverages, but the mood was beyond libational repair at that point.
They were clearly having the break-up discussion. Insults were exchanged, feelings were hurt, accusations flew like the dander from her spray-soaked hair.
And yet at no point did either of them tone down the volume or turn off the theatrics.
However, after I circled back, they'd up and left. They hadn't really ordered anything of substance, and I was thrilled to be rid of them, so I considered it a success. Which leads me to...
Round Three goes to Bitter Waiter, because even though I thumb my nose at people who drink the Adios, it didn't stop me from downing both of theirs. Arms folded, eyes rolling.