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Ruth is a full-time writer. Foodie. Happy camper. Wanders a lot. Used to have the worst taste in men. A reformed swipe-a-holic. Reviving her blog after its death.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

I had a wonderful alfresco, candle-lit dinner last night.


I ate roast chicken and pesto on panini bread on one Italian restaurant on The Fort Strip. I loved the way the mozzarella cheese melted in my mouth. I did not have to do battle with the chicken. And the bread was heavenly.


I know it’s rude to eavesdrop, but when the people on your neighboring table talks like they’ve got to let the others know they’re important, you can’t help it. So I did. I listened while they talk about different modus operandi of sex workers and great but underhanded lawyers.


It was a cool evening. It was the kind of evening when you just want to snuggle close with someone, hold their hands, and whisper sweet nothings on their ears.


But it was also a night when a single woman could buy herself a P500 meal without asking money from a man. It was a night when she could sit alone in one of the tables of classy restaurant without fear that waiters and the people around her would whisper why no one is with her.


With that, I was comforted by the thought that I will survive.