http://www.thekitchn.com/feedburnermain
Each time I walk into a restaurant and a host asks me if I’m “just one,” I feel a twinge of discomfort, maybe a frisson of failure.
I say, “I’m one,” pointedly dropping the “just” to convince myself that solo eating is not the enterprise of the pathetic or the lovelorn. And despite my efforts to say the words both firmly and cheerfully, they sometimes fight their way out from between my gritted teeth.
Because I used to be part of a pair. There will be no reconciliation, only the lawyers’ reckoning and divided assets. I am separated and well on the way to divorce — something that it pains me to admit.
Filed under: Fitness