It occurs to me, however, that I encounter single serving friends every day of my life (well, every day that I leave the house), not just on airplanes or buses or dive boats or dance floors.
Every now and then I take my misanthrope sweater out of the closet, peel it out of its dry cleaner plastic sheath, and don it for a while. Lately, I've been wearing misanthrope like it's the new black. This is strongly correlated to my TMJ-induced chronic pain and discomfort, which I've recently epiphanized has stripped me of many layers of self-confidence, not to mention robbed me of the simple pleasures of eating good food, and made me rather anti-social. Ironic considering I've lost about 20 pounds since finishing grad school and no longer feel self-conscious about pouring out of my clothes, and of course now that I'm done with school I actually have time to be social. Oh, but I digress.
On a good day that starts out bad, someone surprises me with their kindness and I shrug off the misanthrope sweater. It usually takes nothing more than a simple compliment from a stranger - proof I suppose that I was not born to be a misanthrope. A man walked up to me in the metro and told me my hair was beautiful, a security guard in front of the World Bank said I was wearing a pretty jacket - it's enough to pull that thread as I walk away and... watch me unravel. But not the real me, just the misanthrope.
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