Mary's post a couple of blogs back reminded me of what I wrote in Fresh Widows about going out to restauarnts on my own.
" An unscientific survey of my fellow widows pretty much comes down to a consensus about this: going to movies alone—yes! Going to restaurants alone—no!
I’m the exception. I’ve always liked walking in by myself and ordering a table for one, insisting on something front and center.
I feel bold when I eat alone in public. I feel I’m the closest I’ll ever be to Katharine Hepburn, who commanded respect just by showing up, especially when I’m well dressed and have high heels on. I’ve gone to a neighborhood bistro so often now that the maitre d’ greets me with “Good evening. Your usual?”
But there are limits. I avoid the early bird special at the King China All-You-Can-Eat Buffet on Central Avenue. The food is okay, but at four in the afternoon there is no way to feel good about yourself with all those husbands and wives trying to get a head start on the shank of their evening. That would make me feel as ancient as the old Tom Paxton song about Victoria dining alone, skipping the potato.
Mary never eats out alone, but the counter man at the deli knows her on sight."