Last Saturday night I got a free ticket to see Arctic Monkeys emailed to me just before the show started. (Thanks, Javier.) Hubby couldn’t go because of the one ticket and because he was tired and studying. But then, I’ve gotten into the habit of doing things alone again. I’ve been running and going to yoga and SUPY (stand-up paddleboard yoga) and all alone. My local friends have been caught up in surgeries and travels and wedding plans and sucky jobs.

When I was younger, I didn’t have a lot of friends so I had to either stay home or learn to entertain myself and enjoy my own company. I’ve heard women tell tales about learning to embrace their singlehood or whatnot by dining alone without a book or without pretending their waiting for someone. To that, I say pbbht. Although there is something to be said for people watching. Frankly, I think those are the women who think only bookish nerdy girls dine alone. In reality, some of us are dining alone because we’d rather be reading than wasting time arguing over where to go with the six other people involved. We’d rather be reading than listening to that story about the latest fad diet, who won the latest has-been celebrity show, or about that time you think you saw Kirk Cameron eating yogurt back in high school.

 

 

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