We're saved from another lull in conversation by Sam who has returned with two heaping plates of spaghetti. I dig into mine like I haven't eaten in a week. Though, to be fair, it has been over 12 hours. I stab another forkful of pasta, deftly twist it around my fork, and am about to take a huge bite when I realize Wayne is watching me with an amused look on his face. I pause, sit straighter in my chair, hold the fork in such a delicate manner that would make Nancy proud, and eat the tiniest bit of pasta. I set the still full fork down and daintily dab at my mouth with my napkin (which I had pulled from the table where it had been resting improperly).