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What’s so brave about a woman eating alone?
Matter of fact, why does it have to mean anything?
I ask that because folks recently made a “thing” about me having dinner and drinks by myself and I find the intrigue quite curious.
It happened last Friday. I was out and about, looking for a fun night on the city.
I found myself at an art show, decided that I hated it mid-performance and bounced. Hoping to salvage the early evening, I headed over to a happy hour for Black professionals, as well as other folks perpetrating a fraud.
It was a dud too. But at least the hot wings were cheap…
Anyway, I’m at a table of one in the outdoor seating section along the main street of Manayunk, quietly enjoying my wings and drink specials, when one half of a very meddlesome couple decided to make my acquaintance.
More specifically, she complimented me on my green hair. And then she proceeded to tell me how I had the skin to pull it off and how the same color wouldn’t work with her “pasty white skin” as well as other things White people say when they awkwardly try to relate to Black people.
I thanked her for her “compliment” and then proceeded to ignore her. But Mrs. Meddlesome wasn’t done with her investigation. She then abruptly started talking about the “interesting” choice in music. And how she and her husband had thought they were having a quiet and uneventful dinner and were shocked to see so many people there that evening – on a Friday night. In an area where there are tons of bars, lounges and young professional people who like to hang out.
In other words, she was wondering what all of these Black folks were doing in one spot in Manayunk at the same time.
I explained to her and George Zimmerman who we all were and how the coast was clear, therefore put away their townwatch badges…
Anyway, she and I were small-talking (because that’s what small talking interracial tends to look like in segregated Philly) and getting to know each other when the man portion of the dynamic duo decided to speak. More specifically he asked, “So are you here by yourself?”
I shrugged and said, “yeah.”
That’s when the Mrs. got all sad in face and said, “Oh wow. You’re so brave. Like, to be eating alone by yourself. The guts…”
Now I’m about ready to curse her out. But this is Manayunk, which means ain’t that many of us around – with exception of the Black professionals (and we know they ain’t about that Django life).
So instead, I cooled my temper and kindly explained to the nosey woman that there is nothing uniquely brave about eating hot wings. And that there are millions of women probably eating hot wings across America tonight, and they’re all by themselves. Granted, most of them are likely doing it by themselves in front of Netflix. But that is because they don’t feel like dealing with the back-handed judgmental compliments of strangers who feel the need to gawk at – and look for explanation from – a woman having a meal.
After all, no one asked you.
Needless to say, she and the hubby backed off. And instead we talked about more safe topics, like how the neighborhood has certainly changed…
I would like to say Mr. and Mrs Meddlesome were just an isolated incident. But it happened again.
Twenty minutes later. Same table. Same bougie happy hour. Same batch of hot wings. Different couple.
This time, it was two sisters.
They asked if the other seat at the table was occupied. I told them it wasn’t and offered it to them, thinking they would take it elsewhere. Instead, the two pulled up another seat and joined me at my table.
Unlike the last couple, they had come to the restaurant that day for the Black professional event. And just like me, they were kind of “meh” on the event. Anyway, we get to talking and I’m telling them to try the wings when one of the women interrupts me and said, “so wait. Are you here by yourself?”
I shrug my shoulder and said, “yeah.”
To which she sucks her teeth, shook her head and added, “Aw you poor thing. It must have taken some courage to come out by yourself, eh?”
I’ll tell ya’, not as courageous as those kitten heels with the pleated pants she had on…is what I wanted to say. But I’m a professional at a Black professional event.
Instead, I told her that I was brave and that’s what makes me the bomb.
But homegirl, who I feel had a little spite in her, wasn’t trying to let it go. She accused me of looking lonely. And then added: “I mean, aren’t you bored,” she said sympathetically.
And to which I retorted, “Well there are two of y’all. And you both still look pretty bored and ironically lonely to me so…”
Zing!
That backed her off. And just like Mr. and Mrs. Meddlesome, they were cool as a cucumber the rest of the happy hour.
I have friends, but those friends are busy. They have school. They have children. They have work. They have lives of their own. As such being able to hang out when everyone has the time at the same exact moment, is not always doable.
And quite honestly, sometimes I want to eat by myself.
Yeah, I know: it sounds hard to believe. But believe it. I like people and socializing. But there are times when I also enjoy having an outing on my own terms. The restaurant is my choice. When I choose to leave is my choice. Oh, and did I mention you meet tons of folks?
Seriously though, you are never alone when hanging out by yourself. Not even when you want to be. Take it from me, there will always be someone around trying to talk to you. The quirky. The annoying. The judgmental. The interesting. The interested…you get them all.
And while most of those conversations you have will amount to nothing more than casual meetings in days of our lives, every once in a while folks will surprise you. And I promise you, you will never be bored. And you might once and a while, find yourself in good company.
Like Mr. and Mrs. Meddlesome. In spite of our rough start, we ended up having a very pleasant conversation. They even gave me some tips on other good restaurants in the area to check out. Also the sisters were kinda cool too.
Anyway, the moral of the story is: don’t feel sorry for me, Argentina. Brave is a cancer patient. Pitiful is a two-legged dog trying to climb a flight of steps in a snowstorm. I am neither pitiful or brave.
Granted, I am a woman who has climbed a mountain, traveled to five countries by herself and once saved a boyfriend from being mauled to death by an attacking Rottweiler (another story; another time. Pinky swear). I am also a woman who doesn’t always know her left from her right.
But if I can survive all of that on my own, I certainly can manage eating a basket of hot wings by myself.
