How I overcame my fear of eating alone at a restaurant

This seems like a good title for a post, but now I can't think of anything to say about it.  Somewhere down the line, I finally overcame my fear of eating alone at a restaurant.  How?  I was hungry.  I was alone.  It just sort of came together.

I ate alone at Runza tonight (with reading material--you have to look busy.)  Have you noticed that many restaurants have started to incorporate the single-seating area?   You'll find a long table, usually slightly elevated, that faces toward the window, so all the lonely diners can stare wistfully into the wide world while consuming the sad calories of their solitary meal.  It's almost as if facing toward the people eating together would simply be too painful.  I suppose it works on some level.  The restaurant looks busy.  Plus it would just be awkward to put all of us in the middle of the dining area peering like anti-social vultures over the tables of families fighting over the last mozzarella stick or young couples sharing shakes and cooties.

But seriously, eating alone isn't bad at all.  Really.  When was the last time you went on a date and agreed with everything your companion said?  How often do you get to eat ALL the chips and salsa?

(While this post might seem comical, it actually points toward this process I'm in the middle of--the process of feeling good in my skin no matter the circumstances.  Tomorrow's post:  How I overcame my fear of clowns, bandaid adhesive, and highwater pants.)