It’s an unfortunate crime in today’s world that Monday through Friday, most of us are up and at em’ by 7 AM, scarfing plastic baggies of Cornflakes in traffic and hoping that we’re not the ones who have to refill the water in the Keurig by the time we get to work. Brunch is the weekend’s way of saying “Hey girl. Sorry about that. Why don’t you eat some french toast until you feel better?”
This is excellent, really, because the only thing I can cook with absolute confidence is breakfast. I make a mean pancake (from a boxed mix, but I have insider knowledge on the exact perfect chocolate-chip-to-batter ratio,) and I will lovingly take the time to bake fresh lemon poppy seed muffins or blueberry scones.
I have all sorts of plans for great brunch gatherings in my future - Brunch by a roaring fire, eating Nutella croissants and complimenting one another’s blanket scarves. Brunch on a screened-in porch, eating a tower of ombre-colorful cake donuts and painting our nails. Brunch with Mario Batali, where he makes those cool squeeze-bottle pancakes of Disney characters and feeds them to me by hand.
If you ever find yourself invited to one of these fabulous affairs, please bring one or more of the following:
Humiliating photos of your childhood
This is an excellent opportunity to showcase weird Halloween costumes, awkward family photos and potential Throwback Thursday material. Please, however, refrain from bringing any humiliating photos of my childhood, because I thought I destroyed most of them and where did you find this???
One of those little pom-pom garlands
This will make staging a braggy Instagram post much easier. Bonus points if you made it yourself. Even more bonus points if you tell me a convincing story of how you stole it from Zooey Deschanel’s living room.
Any lipsticks in a color that doesn’t suit you
I am here for your through any makeup-related buyer’s remorse. Plus, how else do you expect me to stain the edge of my coffee mug as we gossip about people we went to highschool with?
Before/After photos of celebrity plastic surgery
We can debate Blake Lively’s nose long into the hours after the mimosas have run out.
Spoiling me with $14 gruyere will bond us for life. I feel just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, but with cheese instead of a new wardrobe. This is a delicious way to improve my quality of life. How thoughtful of you!
The DVD of Pitch Perfect I keep forgetting at your apartment
Thanks, girl. Just leave it on top of my microwave. You’re the best.
Because that squeeze-bottle pancake fantasy is very real for me, and his publicist won’t answer my phone calls.
A friendly tolerance for under- and over-cooked pancakes
Note: This is just in case we can’t get Mario Batali.
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