I am obstinate, and if I would look up the word in a dictionary, it would say: stubborn, bullheaded, and defiant - but I won’t because I am obstinate and refuse to. For the same reason, I think a lot about having a full beard because it is considered to be provocative, because I look like a Taliban. I sing, although I am not a singer, and, although many reviewers think it’s a bitch, I talk about film in Filmkrönikan even though I haven’t studied film. Why? Because I'm an obstinate bastard, and if you tell me that I shouldn’t or can’t, my desire only grows. Some outgrow the need to do things out of spite. I feed my inner punk with raspberry jelly every morning.

Therefore I like to do solo activities in groups and group activities alone. Both during my trips abroad and here at home, I like to eat in a restaurant alone when I don’t have a lunch date. But one evening, I am considering doing it full-on. Take myself out to dinner. The whole nine yards. Dress up, go down to the restaurant and holding the door open. Then I'll buy a nice expensive wine, the tastiest starter and maybe have a little fun with the waitress when she wonders if she should set the table for someone else. Sit and eat slowly in silence. Look at the couples in the fancy restaurant as they look at me and wonder if I am:

1. Mentally ill.
2. From another culture that encourages dinner alone. 
3. Bullied.

When they have finished staring I'll enjoy my main course. Yearn for dessert and indulge myself to a glass of champagne so I’ll be giggly by the time I leave. Tip well and say good night to the guy in the closet on the way out. Go home to bed. Satisfied.