Food shopping for one is almost as depressing as eating alone. The despair descends at the grocery store. Looking for corn, I find peeled ears only in packages of five. That means some will probably spoil before I have the chance to consume it. But at least I won’t have to hunt for the corn soon again. Food and money wasted and my spirits sink while still in the produce aisle. Not an auspicious start.
But I am determined to buy the meal I will eat for my dinner. I like chicken, but can’t consume a whole barbecued roaster or six pieces of fried or baked poultry. However, having leftovers won’t be such a bad situation. One less meal to plan.
I make a yummy concoction at the salad bar and top it with my favorite fried onions. Now my supper is taking shape.
After arriving home to my empty condo, I microwave the corn and fried chicken and take the lid off of the salad. I wish I had someone to share my meal with, but have no prospects to whom I can proffer an invitation. So, I reach for a pretty plate from the shelf and begin to get my victuals ready.
I don’t eat at the dining room table because I use it for paying bills and other paperwork. Anyway, being the sole occupant at a table built for four would only intensify my loneliness.
So I take my plate and plop on the sofa, using a too-small coffee table as my dining surface. I get a little teary considering my solo circumstances. I miss my daughter and fantasize that she is here with me like she was a few weeks ago.
We shared a feast of salmon, sweet potatoes and zucchini, and I slept soundly that night having basked in her presence. What would my life look like if I moved to Philadelphia to be near her? I feel stuck where I am, but fear making a big change.
For now, I will eat my meal alone, sad and sorry I didn’t plan my life better.