Sorry Jason Derulo (only me who can’t say his name without saying Jaaason Deruuulo?) but I’m actually dining solo rather than cruisin’ in my whip without a homie. *gasp* I know. Out for a meal without anyone to talk to. How horrid.
Except it isn’t.
The older I get the more I like spending time doing things alone (not like that you filthy buggers). It’s not that I don’t have any friends, it’s not that I’m a recluse, or a bitch, or a weirdo (steady on…). I just like my own company.
I particularly like my own company in a nice restaurant with a good book and a glass of wine (or two, or three). Just sat quietly with my thoughts or if I’m really honest, people watching whilst judging them silently…
“Are you going to let him speak to you like that? Love, you should dash your drink in his face and fuck off out of here.”
“Well you are just spank me on the bottom beautiful. Oh god, have you seen me staring?! Fuck, pretend to be interested in the hideous picture behind. Oh! What lovely composition.”
“Yes, I am having a second glass of wine and no, I haven’t been stood up. Although the chance would be a fine thing. I am in fact being a totes glam lady wot lunches.”
“Really? Are you really going to pretend that nobody can see what you’re doing Madam? Grim. But hey, at least I can die knowing what your boyfriend’s cum face is.”
I get so annoyed with waiting staff who buzz around you like flies thinking that you’re desperate for someone to talk to because you’re clearly Miss Havisham in a GAP dress. Or even worse when they come and take away the other place setting. Your restaurant is not that busy that you’re crying out for the cutlery from the other side of my table. This is not the work kitchen where forks disappear into the ether and knives go to Narnia through the back of the dishwasher.
Are you doing it to make it look as though the table was only ever set for one and therefore I couldn’t possibly have been stood up? I mean, kudos for trying to help but I’m quite capable of styling it out on my own, thank you.
There’s no need to give me sympathetic glances or to break out that little sad face when I say I’ll be dining alone. Some of the best times I’ve had have been on my own (again, filthy!) particularly when the other option is to sit listening to a man so boring I’d chew my own arm off to escape.
You don’t need to engage me in conversation to fill the silence. Just keep filling my wine glass.