His mother had always warned him of examining his food. Never a good idea, she'd always say, because it all looks the same on the way out anyway; why worry about initial appearances? The common man had generally followed her advice, particularly at fast food restaurants, but tonight he found himself sucked back into his old habits. Betty really didn't have anything interesting to say, he thought as they sat at the nice two person table by the part of the wall painted to look as if bricks were revealed by cracked plaster. It was a nice Italian restaurant. But still, the common man just couldn't escape the sensation that what sat before him was not a plate of spaghetti with traditional marinara sauce but rather a steaming coil of guts. Betty thought about his hands. She wondered if she could marry hands like that, and she decided that yes, she could. The evening previous she'd watched a movie in which one of the characters said that a relationship was really special when the two partners could just enjoy a nice silence. This really appealed to her, and she'd determined to put it into effect immediately. The common man simply wished she'd say something to distract him from the guts on his plate. But, instead, he just saw his mother's smirking face on Betty's shoulders.