Sundays have been held sacred as the day of rest, prayer, and confessing of your weekend sins over hollandaise sauce and mimosas with your best friends. It is a guarantee that if you are a twenty something living in a city and enjoyed more than that “one drink” you told yourself you weren’t going to have last night, you’re probably waiting 45 minutes for a table while scrolling through Snap stories and your Instagram feed trying to put together last night. Coffee, please.
Finally seated and looking over the menu, one can see the transition from traditional brunch items of omelettes and pancakes to the trendy breakfast pizzas and avocado toast. Yum! Menu items may have changed but the brunch necessities stay the same – carbs and grease. The one sin the twenty something is bound to commit this brunch is gluttony. A side order of bacon would be great too, thanks.
Orders placed, stomachs rumbling, eyes heavy, and head pounding – you are ready for confession. Who? What? When? Where? How? The questions with vague and blurry answers now attached to random numbers and undecipherable texts.
“Ugh, he was so cute!”
“Dude, I’m so mad I didn’t take her home last night.”
The young lovers tales of the night prior ended tragically without the exchange phone numbers, but full of direct messages on Instagram (yikes). After re-watching videos of your Elaine style dance moves and deciding which photo to post on Instagram, it’s time for the table to bow their heads and pray their food arrives soon.
Water glasses refilled and an empty breadbasket later, the famine has ended and it’s time for Communion.
Four breakfast pizza slices and a side of bacon later, it’s time to retreat back to bed and sleep away the rest of the weekend. Checks signed and waiter tipped, the Sunday scaries set in as they hug and kiss goodbye. Tomorrow there is an “I can’t with Monday” gif to share and the weekly phone call home to make.