BBQ Chicken

Hi Everybody,
Day two of this sobriety project. I wavered today...oh, I came damn close, but I prevailed. There is a stipulation which states that if I eat sushi I am allowed a glass of wine. I almost had sushi, just for the wine. But I decided against it, I mean, what? Am I going to eat sushi every night because I want wine every night? Impossible, too expensive. So I forewent the wine for a new dining experience...a brand new place I'd never been to. I pass it everyday, but I've never been in, partially because it has no windows...I am always suspicious of restaurants without windows. But I was feeling adventurous and wanted to do something different. I walked in and did something which I'd never done in my life. I saw five waiters standing around (I hate overstaffed restaurants) in their nice uniforms; white linens draped the tables; wine glasses sparkled at every setting...I knew I was not dressed for this place. I knew it would be exorbitant...I did some quick thinking and asked to see a menu before sitting down. I studied it as If I were to be tested on it later, only looking at the prices out of my peripheral vision; I asked for recommendations; I praised them on their fine extensive menu. And then I told a big fat lie..."This menu looks wonderful, I am scoping out restaurants for someone whom I would like to impress. I'll be back,"I fibbed.
Now, I've worked fine dining, I have no problem going into a an expensive restaurant, so why did I walk out?
I had plenty of time to ponder this while my BBQ chicken baked at 375 degrees in my oven at home. It was because I was alone. Plain and simply, because I was alone and people don't go out alone and drop $65.00 for dinner... alone. The 21st century gal who prides herself on her brazen independence, what the hell happened to her? Since when do I care about going into a restaurant alone, even a nice one? And now, as the ants race toward my chicken bones, quickly-hardening bbq sauce, and random pieces of freezer-burned veggies, I wonder if I have changed. With my very last 2o-something birthday looming, I realize that I am not who I used to be...but we all change, right? Or do we?
My good friend began a blog today. She is married with a gorgeous child. She lives by the ocean and has a husband who washes the dishes. Before her on-the-surface perfect life, she was a nymphomaniac. Now that she's married, she is bored to tears with the inevitably monotonous and predictably routine state of her life. As a way to vent , she created a blog as a tribute to her olden, crazy and wild nymphomanic ways. It is quite good, so far...I anticipate she will revisit her past and long for the way she was...at times; after all, no one arrives at his or her thirties without regrets of past misadventures. Has she changed? No, not really. She just got smarter. Will I return to the nice restaurant and have lobster alone? You bet your sweet ass. I guess what it all comes down to is that people don't change, they just get haircuts.
Thanks for reading.
~C. Huff