Tonight I had dinner alone (take out chicken tikka masala and nan). Dinner companionship is something I’ve taken for granted over the years as a wife and mother, but Bryan’s gone now, the eldest was at work and youngest off on a date.
Because I’m compulsive and twisted that way, I did some math.
For the next three years I should have some combination of young adults living at home, so they’ll probably forage from my fridge about four nights of seven. I’ll likely have a dinner date with a friend a couple times a month as well. This leaves me with about 420 nights eating dinner on my own during that time period.
After than, I have, conservatively, 28 years left of eating dinner alone. With the same rate of dinner dates a couple times a month, that’s 9,548 solo dinners.
Damn, I’d either better work on my social life, or buy stock in Amy’s Organic.
(Note: black humor, not black depression, was my intention here!)