The Modern Day Brunch: A Cautionary Tale

There was a time when brunch was just brunch. A late breakfast or early lunch, generally taking place on a Sunday.

Then millennials got involved and ruined it.

Now mind you, I make the cutoff of being considered a millennial myself. But at 31, I am viewed as a senior citizen to the true millennials.

When I was in my twenties brunch was still a simple and pure excursion.

My friends and I would all head to our favorite neighborhood diner on Sunday mornings to load up on cheap, greasy breakfast food to sop up the lingering lemon drop shots still in our system.

No alcohol was involved. This was purely a recovery meal.

As we approached 30 our Saturday nights had become much more tame. We let the new batches of freshly turned 21-year olds bump us out of the way to get to the dance floor, as we slowly sipped our vodka sodas and repeatedly mumbled "We are getting too old for this".

Less booze consumption + calling it a night before 3 AM meant no more crippling hangovers.

This is when brunch first took a turn.

It was no longer a survival tactic, it had simply become an enjoyable, social meal. Our neighborhood diner was replaced with nicer restaurants. My $6 two egg breakfast was now $12 and served with artisanal toast.

We were no longer crawling into a restaurant unshowered, in either last night's clothes or mismatched sweats. We actually got dressed and brushed our hair.

There was also another change: Cue the introduction of mimosas.

Now brunch entailed all of us sitting around a table, patting ourselves on the back for not getting black-out drunk the night before; toasting to our new-found maturity with bottomless mimosas.

Now breakfast happens to be my favorite meal. And champagne makes me gloriously giddy.

So this new version of brunch was EVERYTHING.

Screw going out on Saturday nights. It was now all about Sunday's.

A good meal. A few cocktails. Audible conversations that didn't compete with a neighboring DJ booth. Always to make it home safely, full, happy and only a little buzzed.

But then millennials just had to go and up it a notch.

Except this time, I was unaware of the shift...

---

My girlfriend Erin wanted to celebrate her birthday with brunch in Philly. I would like to point out that Erin is the youngest in our group of friends. She is a TRUE millennial through & through.

We showed up to the restaurant dressed causally in jeans, sweaters and flats.

I immediately noticed it was strangely dark.

We walked up to the host stand and gave them the name of our party. When the hostess stepped away from behind her podium to guide us to our table, our jaws hit the floor...

Homegirl was wearing booty shorts! Like, Hooters style booty shorts.

The restaurant was completely empty except for our table, which was situated right next to a full-fledged DJ booth. What was this place?

We all ordered breakfast and of course, bottomless mimosas.

Then this happened...

The DJ started playing his music. LOUDLY. And the champagne for our mimosas came out with sparklers by two hottie patottie waitresses that looked more like Vegas ring girls.

Then came the millennials. In droves.

They clearly all knew what they had signed up for. They were dressed like they were going to a night-club, in their crop tops, bandage dresses and 6-inch heels.

They wasted no time standing on their chairs and twerking their youthful asses off.

*It was noon.*

My friends and I all watched what was unfolding in stunned amazement.

Once the shock wore off we all adapted a 'Hey, when in Rome' mindset and started pounding our own mimosas.

Erin, was in her element. My beautiful, twenty-something friend was a vibrant, dancing queen living her best life.

She drunkenly sauntered over to me. "Annie, you're going to love my boyfriend's friend that is on his way."

Doubtful, I never like anyone.

Five minutes later in walks the friend.

My jaw dropped.

I had never seen such a gorgeous man before. He was right off the cover of GQ Magazine. Tall and muscular with a mega-watt smile and dimples for days.

He introduced himself.

Fuck, he has an accent. My kryptonite.

30 minutes later we were making out in the middle of the bar to Selena Gomez.

I honestly can't remember the last time I had a makeout sesh in a bar. It's been YEARS. But I can tell you it's never happened before 1 PM.

I was completely disoriented by all the lust, champagne and go-go dancers.

Where was I? What day is it?

---

Fast forward 8 hours and I am laying in Mr. GQ's bed.

How did I manage to get shit-faced, sleep with a stranger and already begin feeling hungover all before midnight?!

When I woke up the next morning I looked over at Mr. GQ.

Damn, he was good looking. For my first official one night stand I did pretty well for myself.

He woke up and we started recounting the craziness that was the day before.

"I was drinking like I was still in my twenties", I said.

"You're not still in your twenties?" he asked me, confused.

I blinked at him. "What year were you born?"

"1994."

"You were born in the NINETIES!?"

"You were born in the EIGHTIES??????"

Oh god. I had to go. I got up and located my purse.

Why is it all wet and stained with something brown? (I later found out someone spilled an ENTIRE rum & coke into it).

I retrieved my cell phone out of my destroyed bag only to find a lifeless piece of plastic.

OMG, that's right. I dropped my phone in the toilet.

Baby GQ sweetly called me an Uber and walked me outside when it arrived. He opened the car door for me and I attempted to slip in.

Except I still did not have all of my faculties back and misjudged the height of the car. I headbutted the roof as I tried to get it.

Nice, Annie. Graceful exit.

I waved goodbye and told him to call me sometime knowing full well we never exchanged numbers.

This is what I learned that weekend:

There is brunch and there is millennial brunch. And you damn well better know which one you are headed to.

Please share this message. My goal is to help save others from having to learn this important lesson the hard way, as I did.

X.

A