Getting together with a bunch of friends for brunch is a sacred tradition, one I feel cannot be revered highly enough. And yet, like your grandma complaining about women wearing pants to church, so too do I feel the rules on brunch have slipped to a state of moral depravity. I would like to remind everyone of some of the Forgotten Rules of this Sacred Tradition:
Phones off. I’ve heard of a rule that everyone put their phones in a stack on the table, and if anyone grabs their phone that person must pay the entire bill. I think either a literal prince or Prince himself invented this rule. That’s how rich you’d need to be. No. That is nuts. Everyone keep their phone in their pocket, on silent. Welcome to adulthood.
Chill out, early birds. Nine in the morning is an asshole’s hour for brunch. Yes, you’re right, there WILL be no wait. And the waitstaff will be hungover and will loogie in your tea latte. If you must have breakfast at nine, prepare yourself for it to be ALONE.
No BFs/GFs/Spouses. If we need to be able to talk about them, they need to be elsewhere. And no, your boyfriend is not an exception. My fellow lady-homos, you are not off the hook either. Take your best gal to all the potlucks you want, but respect that brunch is sacred friend time.
No Dogs or Babies. Sorry.
Your hangover is not an excuse. You knew about brunch last night and you goddamn knew it was happening at noon. Get your ass outta bed!
You can be late, but don’t be a dickhead. You get up to 15 minutes free lateness, but your friends can order without you. Don’t cry when no one wants to watch you finish your Benny two hours after brunch started.
Everyone just wear hoodies. None of this “oh I just threw together this amazing outfit, makeup and hairdo” bullshit, early risers. Slap a hoodie on that dress. There, that’s better.
Lastly, there are certain topics which must be barred from the brunch ceremony, for the sanity and pleasure of all.
Your diet. No one cares that you’re “off gluten for a while” and that you find your skin “really glowy” because of it. Do not tell us how many calories are in anything on the table, unless you want to guess how many calories are in the boot I will shove up your ass.
Your wedding. Don’t you have a 14-bridesmaid email chain where you can talk about your “table favors”? No offense but give it a rest and let your single friends regale you with the horrors of Tinder dates for an hour. You’ll be way happier about your forthcoming nuptials, trust.
Your breakup. I don’t care if he comes to the restaurant and breaks up with you in between Caesars, you do not fucking talk about your breakup. Breakup talk is for late night bestie crying phone calls, sad whiskey bars, and high school hallways. Don’t put everyone off their huevos, it’s rude.
Known points of contention. Examples may include: whether God is real; whether juice cleanses remove “toxins”; whether or not flare jeans are ready for a comeback. Let the lion lay with the lambs, for it is the holy time of brunch.
Depressing things. No one wants to cry at brunch. Please don’t tell the tale of your grandma’s failed heart surgery, or how many puppies the local shelter had to put down. These are true bummers. We are here for joy, for camaraderie, for foods stuffed with other foods!
Did I just wipe clean your whole conversational reserve? Heavens to Macy Gray. Alright, here’s a list of topics that work, try some of these pups out.
Your dreams. Yeah it’s a well-worn trope that dreams are weird and boring to talk about, but I have a pet theory that a dude with dumb dreams started that one. Dreams are cool! Your weirdo brain spends all night churning out hypothetical scenarios, holodeck-style, and we’re not going to talk about it? Honestly brunch is the perfect time to bust them out — you just woke up so your subconscious mind is near at hand. Plus, your friends can help you divine what it meant when your kindergarten teacher climbed out of a giant sphere of Jell-o to hand you some paperclips.
Your crushes. The newer, the better. Don’t overdo it on the obsessive stalking wedding plan thing. Keep it to a dull roar — you cannot seque Janet’s trip to Venice with how your crush loves the Merchant of Venice, and do you think that’s a sign? It’s not, it never is. Shut up.
Your hopes & goals. Why not share your heart and soul with the people you love, who are probably smart and have great observations on making those goals happen? Or just talk about butts. Who cares? Eat some eggs!
Sex stuff. The weirder, the better. Just don’t shout “You put WHAT in his butt!?” so loudly that the family four tables over can hear.
Bacon. It’s delicious and everyone loves it. If you’re a vegetarian, you may substitute bacon with Country Fried Tofu at no additional charge.
See you Sunday at noon. There’ll be a line up.