I have eaten at a restaurant alone on occasion. If I were on a solo business trip, I would more likely run after work and pick up a Subway sandwich on the way back to the room. But I have no problem eating by myself in public. I usually take reading material. If someone is eating single at an airport restaurant, no one notices. But under other circumstances, a party of one can seem sad to me. One Saturday evening about 25 years ago, I was dining with my three sons and one of their friends at the Boar’s Head Resort in Charlottesville, Virginia. I spotted a man in a coat and tie dining solo. Easter was the next day. Our group of five was having a particularly good time. The lone man may have been overjoyed too, but this was not as outwardly obvious. I felt a little guilty both about my good fortune and about making assumptions about his circumstances. On the day this post was composed, I realized I have never been to a movie by myself. I can say this with confidence, knowing that no one can rebut my claim with the words, “What about the time you went to Reefer Madness with me?” I see plenty of people alone at a movie. My wife and I once ran into a particularly sociable friend on her own in a movie theater. You cannot talk during the show and are anonymous in the dark, so it seems like a perfectly logical activity to do alone or together. Just like I jog alone or with others. Since I have no reason not to attend a movie by myself, I need to add that to my Bucket List just to prove it.