Table For One

Do you know what “bliss” is these days (I’m referring to the days that currently label me as stay-at-home mom and assistant to a very busy/disorganized husband)? “Bliss” is going to the Dollar General store ALONE and having a long lunch at your friendly neighborhood Mexican restaurant ALONE. By the way, the money saving tip of the day is to visit your neighborhood Dollar General store for many of the things you pay full price for at your regular full price paying haunts. They’ve got tons of cheap stuff, some pretty neat stocking stuffers for the kiddos and there’s usually never anyone in the place. Never mind the surly checkout girl in the blinding yellow vest or the poor homeless fella who you wished was hanging out by the air fresheners and not the trash bag isle where the low priced Hefty Cinch Sacks are that you need. I got in the habit of frequenting the Dollar General in Marfa where the tunes were great and the staff was super-friendly. Besides there wasn’t another option in town for brooms, Matchbox Cars and curtains.

The restaurant I go to has two televisions programmed to the same station. I like this because they are in Spanish and I try to keep up but mostly I marvel at the skimpy outfits these incredibly attractive Latinas are wearing as they host their talk shows. Their teeth are as white as marshmallows and their grins, huge. That’s almost as distracting as their figures and fashion choice of the day. I look past them at the other people on the set, usually some sort of fly girls in equally skimpy clothing and one or two additional male hosts, and everyone acts like this sexiness is totally normal, that a bare midriff and tatas up to there with those lipsticked porno mouths is normal and I think that’s SO rad. And if I was that hot, I’d totally dress like that, too.

There’s a feeling that almost overwhelms me when I dine alone in the middle of the day. With my book in my hand and my Diet Coke just arms length away, I am just me. I’m not disciplining anyone, not tending to anybody’s needs, not sharing a morsel and it kinda rocks. I don’t even have to look around the room. I’m in my little bubble of lunchtime glee. I switch between reading my book and deciphering what the Latina sex goddess on TV is saying about children in need or something. And that is all. When the waitress comes over to ask if I need anything else I almost say, “A hug.”

I think I need to get out more.