I have a confession, I eat alone. A lot! Okay it’s out. I feel so much better. Some people know this about me and tease me a bit but after years of doing this, I’m finally okay with it.
You see, my (now) husband is a super picky eater. Total meat and potatoes type of guy. I feel sad for him really because his poor taste buds have been cheated out of the simple pleasures of so many wonderful flavors. It should be a crime! A time came in our 10 year relationship when my taste buds sat me down and begged me not to give into one more taco or another slice of pizza (David’s favorite foods). They pleaded for different flavors, requested ethnic foods. It was quite the intervention I tell ya. So one day they won the debate and I walked into a restaurant for the first time by myself.

Hostess: How many?
Me: I discreetly held up one finger.
Hostess: Party of one?
Me: A simple nod confirmed, yes…I was alone. Geez. Could you say it any louder? (I thought).

I recall feeling as if everyone was looking at me. Watching me sit alone in a corner with nobody to talk to. Poor girl, she’s all alone. (I was certain this is what everyone was whispering about me). To my surprise I looked up to quickly look around and not a single person was looking at me. Nobody cared that I walked in alone, nobody cared that I was sitting by myself. (Why I think I was so interesting that complete strangers would care who I was and why I was alone, don’t ask.) I recall thinking, okay this isn’t so bad. In a hurry I ordered my meal (Chicken Curry, rice, and garlic naan). Yep, I was at an Indian restaurant. David Hayes the smell of the spices they use and despises the taste. I didn’t have any friends who liked Indian food at the time so I had no choice but to dine alone. I ordered my meal, quoted out my phone and browsed through Facebook. I responded to comments then once I had seen everything that had been posted on FB within the last 30 minutes, I switched to Instagram. Before I knew it I had finished my meal and was asking for the check. In and out super duper quick. Now came the moment of truth, the walk of shame aka the walk out the door. This was when everyone was about to turn and look at me. People were going to realize no one had come to meet me. Their suspicions would be confirmed, yep she was alone. I headed towards the front door and again to my surprise strangers still weren’t interested in me. No looks, no stares, not even an eyebrow raised. What? Nobody even noticed I had a lunch date with me, myself, and I. Hmmm, I could get used to this. And I did. (Considering I have continued to eat alone ever since. I’m cool now. Right?)

The drive home was awesome. I had my fix of Indian food in a restaurant my hubby would have hated. That curry was incredible. The sauces had so much flavor and dunking my garlic naan in the leftover sauce was the best part. I was satisfied. Now years later, I’m still dining alone. For breakfast, lunch, but rarely ever dinner (that would just be weird). It doesn’t even phase me anymore. Now I walk in and blurt out the words, “one please.” I proudly sit down, order my meal, take out my phone, and enjoy “me time.” Only difference is now I tend to blog and/or write reviews about my meal on Yelp. I’m pretty productive nowadays.