Every now and then, I am reminded that the quirky things I take for granted when I am alone might seem strange to others.

“I don’t think the omelet needs any more cheese,“ my friend, an excellent cook, offered as she observed the slice of Munster I was holding.

“This is the last slice. I have to use it; otherwise, it will get lonely,” I replied. Admittedly, it sounded a little strange when I said it out loud but I couldn’t bring myself to put just one piece of cheese back in its wrapping when it had lived there so happily with company.

There are many foods, like people, who are pleased to be on their own.

Zucchini, for instance, always seem delighted when I sort through a pile and pick out one that I feel is perfect for me. The few times I have bought them six to a package they all seemed like they were bursting to get out. I could hear the deep side of relief when I finally freed them.

Avocados are also loners, covered by too-tight thick skin that enshrouds them like a clingy dress that you just can’t wait to unzip.

In contrast, tomatoes are snugglers. I can’t leave just one on the vine. I often put an extra tomato on my sandwich rather than leave one stranded all alone.

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Lemons need other lemons. My tree has many coupled together. Some are even smoochers. I clip them from their branches in pairs. Bananas naturally bunch together. I feel so badly for the ones That get rudely detached and wind up on the supermarket shelf alone. Please, people, buy them in pairs.

Yes, shopping for fresh vegetables is an adventure for me. Once I saw a sweet potato waving to me to help it escape from a crowded bin. The claustrophobic tuber had found a kindred spirit in this lady. Soon it was riding in my shopping cart in a plastic bag with the top open.

By the way, an extra slice of cheese in the omelet turned out to be a good thing. And I didn’t have to leave anyone all alone to accomplish it.