I hate dining out alone. I hate the looks you get from others (especially other women). It's as if eating alone automatically means you're lonely. That was my case last night, but that's besides the point. It was all I could do to get through my meal without hurling mashed potatoes at all the evil onlookers. I wanted to poke their eyes out with my fork, but I remained calm-ish. I figured if nothing else, I could at least have a little fun with the bitches. If I couldn't enjoy my meal in peace, I wasn't going to let them either.The bitch to my right wore an evening dress that was a size too small. It was obvious she was also wearing one of those body shaper/corset type things as you could see the outline through the dress. She also had the most annoying laugh -- like a hyena choking on a rib bone. I walked over and complimented her on her dress. I then inquired as to how well her body shaper must work. I then insisted she loosen it a little as it sounds like she couldn't breath. I even told her she sounded like said hyena. Moments later, she excused herself to the restroom.
One down, two to go.
The bitch to my left had long, blonde hair with inch long brunette roots. She had on enough eyeliner to replicate the face painting of the Joker from the Batman movie. Her lipstick was orange and her shoes didn't match her dress. This one would be easy. I dug my mirror out of my purse and walked on over. I handed the mirror to her and simply said "I think you need this more than I do."
Two down. One to go.
The bitch sitting in front of me was the worst. She actually stared at me with sorrow in her eyes -- like she really felt bad that I was alone. She wore six inch stilettos and had hair bigger than we wore it in the eighties. It was obvious this chick was trying to make a statement, I just couldn't figure out what that statement was. I walked over and stood for a brief moment. I then asked if her ego matched her hair and shoes -- you know, big. She rolled her eyes and told me to fuck off. She wasn't as nice as she appeared after all.
Three down. None to go.
I summoned my waiter and asked for the check. My pity party had ended. None of these women looked at me with sympathy anymore. Their stares were now full of anger and annoyance. My job there was done. I think the next time I dine alone, I'll ask for a dark corner booth in the back of the restaurant and sulk in peace.
3 comments:
I am sorry I am not a dining out person. I would have liked to have been there as a witness. Particularly when you encountered the lady in the six-inch heels. It would have allowed me to loudly slurp my soup as I burst out laughing. Then I could have blushed slightly, popped out my upper denture and wiped it clean, popped it back in, and smiled brightly! To show I was a gentleman and I had laughed inappropriately.
Thank you for the good story.
Signora (or should I be calling you Signorina now?) - one tip I've picked up after years of dining alone: if you want to be left alone, bring a book with you. It transformed me in the eyes of my fellow diners from being solitary by accident to being solitary so I could achieve some literary or philosophical purpose. Also, wear reading glasses, even if you require them or not. However, brava, brava!
@Ralph: "popped out my upper denture and wiped it clean, popped it back in, and smiled brightly!"
I love a man with class!
@GreenCurmudgeon: I think I'll do this next time and I think the book will be something about the lives of serial killers. I'm sure people would leave me alone then.
And yes, Signorina works quite well. :)
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