I took myself on a date and I have to say,  I’m quite a gentleman. 

I’ve often been accused of being a loner.  Or antisocial.  Or a man hater.  I’m none of those things.  I like being alone from time to time.  That is true.  I like to think. For me, that’s best done alone.  I’m not afraid of silence or introspection.  In fact I prefer it to meaningless noise and small talk. Being on my own feels natural.

As a small child I often played alone in my room as my imagination was vibrant and strange and my sister had a quiet and gentle presence whereas mine was rambunctious and wild. I felt no need to force myself on her as I was perfectly content on my own.  We played plenty.  She’s my best friend, after all.

I have often found it difficult to truly relate with most of the people I’ve met, though.   I was usually at level 10 and most wanted me to be at level 2. And for me everything has to have meaning,  including the relationships and friendships I take great effort caring for and nurturing.

I like people just fine.  Don’t get me wrong.  Sometimes it’s fun to be part of a loud crowd.  I’m comfortable there,  as well.  I just never found it necessary to have a hundred friends and a thousand interactions as the few good friendships I have maintained have always been fulfilling enough for me.

I don’t understand why people feel bad for me as I eat alone in a restaurant.   I don’t mind it at all.  Everyone has to eat.   I could hide in my car and eat fast food to spare their feelings I suppose as they imagine I’m lonely or sad.  Some have made the assumption that I’ve been “stood up” or that there must be something wrong with me.  I don’t carry much concern for the opinion of strangers,  though.  So I’ll gladly go on a solitary date with myself.

My unimpeded view was magnificent under the stormy skies. The chairs were wicked bouncy and the air smelled nice.

I settled on the Butcher’s Cut and ate it in it’s entirety.  All alone.  Happily.  Without having to pause for conversation or attempt to be attractive with grease on my face.  Let’s be honest.  I wouldn’t have attempted to be attractive eating a burger if I had been sitting across the table from James Dean.

I devoured this masterpiece in silence.  As a mother of 3,  silence is as rare as the inside of that delightful beef patty.

I wasn’t self conscious,  though strangers stared with looks of wonder.  I wasn’t bummed to be on my own.  I fought hard for my independance.  No tears will be shed today because of it.

When I had sufficiently stuffed myself full of truffle oil and frites, I hit up my favorite book store for some much needed inspiration.

Then off I went to see a movie. I heard the dudes behind me whispering.  “Sad” they said.  For you or me, Pal?  I don’t need a chaperone.  I assure you,  I can handle myself just fine. I’m not certain if anyone else is capable of that task, though.

Here is how the date ended.  Back in my bed.  Alone.  No expectations.  No inappropriate advances.  Treated myself like a lady all night which is a welcome change from what I had become accustomed to. I didn’t get kidnapped or raped either, so, that was nice.

On went the leggings and t-shirt and cartoons. 

If all dates were this easy and someone would treat me as well as I have learned to treat myself, maybe I would consider dating an option.  But,  for now,  I’m cool with this arrangement.   I’m fine with the assumptions,  murmers,  and sad stares.   I’m fine with me so I’m cool with you. 

Freedom.