I am dating Myself?

I woke up this morning with a VIOLENT need to go out to breakfast. Like, bad. But then I realized, I didn’t have anyone to have breakfast with. No one to You get the Pancakes I’ll get the Benedict and we’ll both have the world, with. I mean, I have people with which I could like, schedule a breakfast, but I don’t have anyone that I can call from bed and mumble something incoherently about waffles and then we meet at The Place. This made me sad, which I figured was a bad way to start the day, so instead, I changed it to: I GET TO HAVE BREAKFAST BY MYSELF! And then I did, sat at the Diner bar conveniently close to the pecan pie, and I didn’t have to talk to anyone except Myself, and I read the entire Saturday Times, even the depressing and confusing parts,  which I did not have to share. Myself somehow managed to spend 27 dollars. But then Myself fronted the bill, which wasn’t weird or presumptuous at all, but kind of romantic.

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