A few weekends ago, after Cherry Blossom Run, my friend and I brunched at True Food Kitchen in Fairfax, VA. Upon entering, the wait staff asked if we wanted a table or “communal.” They added that the wait for a table was 45 minutes, and I don’t love anyone or anything enough to wait for food after running 10 miles. So we sat “communal.”

What this meant was - besides removing our clothes, sharing heroin needles (do you use needles for heroin?), and discussing the blessings of socialism – we sat at a bar where strangers (OMG, strangers) could sit down beside us. But this didn’t happen until the end of our brunch. And then our seat neighbor asked what I had ordered because it looked so good (which it was), and I wanted to ask for her number, but is that awkward? Aren’t we all already married in the commune?

Okay, I’ve taken that joke far enough. I apologize.

Anyhow, eating “communal” is not bad at all, especially when compared to a 45-minute wait for eggs. I endorse you also making this decision.