A Date with Myself

So about a month back, I decided that it's been far too long (well over a year at least) since I've been on a date.

I mean an actual date.

You know, dinner, drinks, conversation (or at the very least, an interview disguised as a conversation, ie. "Sooo...what's your favorite movie and also you don't mind that sometimes I fart when I sneeze, right? Speaking of right, I cannot fall asleep on the right side of the bed. You know, for future reference. Oh. Your favorite movie is "Gigli?" Forget that whole bed thing.")

And I was also thinking about how I wanted to eat at one of my favorite local places that just so happens to be a really great date spot. Good food, nice ambiance, wine, candles.

So as I put the equation together, I realized that I had all the necessary components except for one: a date.

Being the creative person I am, I decided to look at the problem from a whole different angle.

What I wanted was to a.) gorge myself on decadent food and wine b.) go to one of my favorite restaurants and c.) be treated to an excellent evening.

I wasn't about to let the lack of a date stop me from going on a date, so I decided to get up the nerve to ask out...

...well, myself.

That's right. I took myself out on a date.

I didn't look at it as going to a restaurant alone. No. I looked at it as a way to treat myself for just being me. Who cares that the other patrons gave me that, "Oh look at that poor girl. Eating dinner alone." Because in my mind I was enjoying the shit out of myself (and I had a wonderful conversation, via text messages, with one of my best friends in the world.)

And the waitstaff was absolutely exemplary. Although I'm certain they thought I was a food critic, which in turn made me start to act like one. If I caught them glimpsing at me inquisitively, with that look of, "I hope she's enjoying that stuffed chicken breast enough to write about it!" I would take a bite, and then chew with purpose, in a way that made it seem as if I were concocting the perfect, adjective-laden paragraph about that bite.

I didn't mind eating alone. As a matter of fact, it was mildly freeing. A statement of independence and a new found sense of self that I hadn't realized before.

I mean look, in order to tend to the needs and wants of others, we must first tend to ourselves, right? Otherwise what good are we? And that night, I did just that.

And as I drove out of the parking lot I concluded that I can be really great company and at some point, someone might appreciate that.

Of course, then I realized that I had just gotten lost.

In a parking lot.

For 25 minutes.

Mindlessly circling around (and laughing hysterically at my ineptitude) searching for a way back to the street.

After which I concluded, that if I do go on an actual date in the near future, he should probably drive.

(I have no shame in admitting my weaknesses. Lack of a sense of direction being one of them.)