complete randomness / life / things I like

Not that kind of girl

The other night, a conversation about the finer eating establishments in Bethlehem — and the fact that I’ve never dined at most of them — got me thinking: Is it that no one has ever wanted to take me out for fancy dinner*, or has there been another reason all along?

And I realized there is.

Being taken out for fancy dinner usually falls under a certain — and certainly valid — type of relationship and relationship behavior.  As for me, I don’t care about those things.

Sure, I like a nice dinner**.  But dressing up, sitting properly, ordering mixed greens and fancy proteins?  That’s nice sometimes, I guess.  It’s definitely more someone else’s style, though.

My best nights go something like this: A late night surprise trip to the diner.  A tomato and American cheese omelet with hash browns, rye toast, and coffee.  Slumped in the booth.  Comfortable conversation and long looks at the dessert carousel.

Perfect.

——————

* I have met (and dated) my share of cheap half-assers, after all.

** I mean, I even have a list of nicer places I’d like to go should the time/opportunity/occasion/apocalypse arise.  And I’m not sure if I can stress enough how much I love eating.

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