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Once a week, I grab sushi takeout: green dragon roll, spicy salmon roll, miso soup.As the waiter finishes taking my order, I brace myself for the final question of the transaction: “How many chopsticks?It’s always “Just one, thanks.” Are you thinking, Listen to this sad-sack bitch.

The pain leaps suddenly, like the horrible surge of heat when you remember you forgot to do something important.

Sometimes it spills out of me in tears that trickle down from behind my sunglasses as I sit on the streetcar on my way home from work, inching home toward another solitary meal, another night alone in bed.

” Right eye slightly a-twitch, I say, “Just one.” Sometimes I contemplate lying, “Oh, two, please!

” because I’m so, so over the Sad Single Person Meal trope, but I never cave.

I cringe when I imagine it going into print—and then onto the Internet for all eternity—for my exes to see and future dates to find lurking in my Google results. We’re all humans here, so I’ll do it: I’m coming out as lonely.

Last modified 06-Dec-2017 18:13