I’ve never been a big fan of brunch, mostly because I tend to judge things before I actually give them a chance. I’m sure that logic will eventually catch up to me when I’m banished to Hell for telling God that “Heaven probably sucks anyway,” but for now, that’s how I roll.
But despite my previous judgments otherwise, my opinion of brunch changed for the better yesterday, and I think the reason was that I missed the entire point of the activity.
I used to hate brunch for these Scientific Reasons: 1) It’s too close to lunch time. If I wanted eggs and all that stuff, I’d have them when I woke up, not at noon. 2) It’s too close to breakfast. The internal conflict of whether or not I should have something to eat before brunch is enough to drive me insane. 3) During football season, brunch can run dangerously close to interfering with the one o’clock games, and missing football is something that makes me angrier than Amy Winehouse when she loses her crack pipe.
However, yesterday, when Ari and I went to brunch at a place by our apartment and we had A Good Time, I finally figured out what brunch is meant for – getting drunk before noon!
We both talked about things that I now forget because we were drinking and we laughed at a grown woman hula-hooping outside, it was great.
And because we were both drunk, I’d Think About Things which seemed grand at the time but were only really grand because I couldn’t stand up straight and it was 11:47 AM.
After that brunch, I am officially converted. Today I awoke a brunch fan, and maybe sometime we can all get brunch together, too.
I do hope you drink though, because by the time I’m on my second mimosa you might be questioning why you’re friends with me in the first place.
