Oh, the glamorous life of a single girl. Friday night. Getting home from a long week, my first move is to peel off my clothes and slip into soft pajamas. It’s only 7:30 pm. The contacts are exchanged for my more-comfortable glasses as well. Tonight, I do laundry. My chef’s whites need a thorough cleaning for next week. Dinner is a bowl of too-sweet leftover lamb tagine – a trial recipe that hasn’t made the cut. And for entertainment? A BBC adaptation of Vanity Fair from Netflix (read: a chick flick). Yes, this is the wild life of this single girl.
Tonight, Saturday, I’m going out with someone; not a “date”, per se, but not a night out with the girls, either. We’re dining at a restaurant owned by a certain celebrity chef – a place I’ve been dying to go for many months. Open Table could only get us reservations at 5:15 – even making them over a month in advance. The early dinner is fine with me – when savoring a good meal, I hate to be rushed. Afterwards, we’re going to a concert. No sex, no kiss – just dinner and the show. Then, home for me to my own, comfy, single-girl bed. Yep, this is my life.
