act three, in which we offend pretty much everyone

outside our favorite neighborhood restaurant, Gavin is chatting and commiserating with two women who are also waiting for a table in the cold:

lady #1: "do they know it's your anniversary? you should tell them--maybe they'd get you a table."

me: "no, that's not really our style."

Gavin: "yeah, I'd go for more of a sure thing, like cancer. this is the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis--any chance you could get us a table?"

me and ladies #1 & 2: "stop!"

lady #2: "yeah you can't joke about things like that."

Gavin: "I know. I feel creepy even saying that."

a few minutes later, ladies 1 & 2 give up on the wait and head up the hill to dine at a different restaurant. we look at the moon and the posters hanging by the bus stop and watch people walk up and down the street.

me: "brr! it's freezing all of a sudden this week."

Gavin, pulling me to his chest and wrapping his coat around both of us: "this will keep you warm."

me: "much better, thanks."

Gavin: "here we are, on our anniversary, outside in the freezing cold, huddled together for warmth, waiting for a table that may never open up."

me: "yup."

Gavin: "we should have tried saying cancer."