Excuse me, passenger next to me in 17E on the 4:20 flight from LaGuardia to Memphis.
When we're all getting off of the plane, and everyone gets to turn their cell phones back on and send text messages or have conversations or whatever other telephone-based mania they have? Remember that?
I am with you on this part. I like to check in with people to tell them the plane's landed and to see what's going on.
But, if you and your husband are going to have some kind of spat about whether or not you're too worn out to go eat dinner with some of his family, would you mind terribly keeping it to yourself?
I'm tired, too. I feel you on that. We're all tired. We've been in a big metal tube for two hours being thrown through the sky at ludicrous speed breathing some kind of oxygenated atmosphere devoid of natural moisture drinking canned sugar fizz without the free movement of our elbows or knees after eating that sluice that passes for food at the airport.
The thing is, though.
None of us want to hear it.
Not only is it a drag to have to listen to, but it's uncivilized to exhibit your marital hiccups in public.
That's why they're called domestic disputes.
Because you dispute them in the domicile.
That's at home.
It ain't for the rest of us to hear.
I'm sorry you had to fight about it, though. Fighting is for the birds.
But please keep it to yourself next time.