I just made some great chicken for dinner. It was delicious.
Then, I ate alone and it wasn’t weird at all.
When I eat alone, I can eat how I want. Not that I don’t eat the way I want when nomming in a group, but when chomping solo, the napkin becomes optional. I’ll change the channel on the TV using the tiny knuckle of my pinky finger because my hands are covered in bar-be-que sauce.
Mouth open whilst chewing? Yep.
Eating on the couch instead of at the table? Take that, Mom!
My elbows can go out as far as I want them to.
Eating in groups there is always that awkward moment when someone asks you a question just as you’ve begun to chew and then silence follows for what seems like a good 15 seconds (it’s probably closer to eight or nine seconds) until you’ve mashed enough sustenance to adequately answer. Most often, it’s a yes or no question, so you’re left to nod your head slowly while taking potentially dangerous chews.
If you’re eating alone, you dictate the conversation. Answer the questions you want, when you want. (this means you ar a crazy person for talking to yourself.)
I don’t recommend talking to yourself if you’re eating alone at home, doubly so if you’re eating alone in public.
The other bummer is that piece of salad. You know the one I’m talking about. That one leaf that some how missed the skilled knife of the 16-year-old kid in the kitchen making minimum wage to slice heads of iceberg day in and day out. It’s just too big to fit, but you try anyway. Unhinging your jaw like an anaconda before a meal of hippo, you try to shove this behemoth in.
Sometimes it works. Most of the time, you look silly.
But whomever you’re with, wherever you are and whatever you’re eating or drinking, be merry.
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