Lepers to the left, singles to the right.

I had a conversation the other day and it was not the first time the topic has come up. So I am here to set the record straight for all of you out there who co-habitat. We, and I feel that I can safely speak on behalf of the group, people who live on our own do, in fact, eat food.

The first time this came up was a few years back when a group of people from work sat down for lunch together. I pulled out some lasagna and salad. “Oh did your mother make that for you?” Brenda (yes, her real name) asked. “No. I made it.” I replied. “Really, you made an entire lasagna for yourself?” I explained to her that I would freeze half of it for later and make a couple meals out of the rest. She could not get her head around why people who lived on their own would go to the trouble of cooking for themselves. Why if it wasn’t for her husband and two kids she “would never turn on the oven.” For the record, there has since been an affair and a divorce. Apparently she turned on the oven for somebody.

KitKat mentioned it in his now defunct blog too. He popped in for some reason or the other just as I was making lunch so I asked him to stay. We had lamb, potatoes and some sort of vegetable. He was, I can’t say shocked as he knows I like to eat well and treat myself, but, shall we say mildly surprised that I would go to such extremes when cooking for myself.

And just the other day I took a pie to work to suck up to my new co-workers. I shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble I was told. Not at all, I was making another one for myself anyway. Again, it was a given that I was going to a dinner party that night, or taking it to a BBQ. For the record, I am quite capable of eating an entire pie by myself thank you very much. Have you ever tasted my pastry?

I have to ask, is it assumed that Kraft dinner is our main source of sustenance? That we forage for bugs and insects on our way home? Aside from Sunday supper at our parents we get no hot food? That we are the ones that keep McDonalds and Pizza Hut in business? That our lives are as empty as a Chinese take-out carton? That our refrigerators our stocked with nothing but fine wines and champagnes for us to drown our pitiful lonely existence in? Don’t be silly, that’s what the bar fridge next to our bed is for.