- To Be Seen Eating Brunch. I get anxious every minute someone isn’t tagging me on Facebook in front of a big plate of French toast and accompanying blood mary. I pretend to be disinterested whenever someone says “Ooh, this is going on Instagram!” Yet I still hold a pose, point to my meal, and make a funny face. Then, as my phone starts buzzing with Facebook likes and comments, I channel Patrick Bateman as the rush of endorphins hits me when I find out how jealous everyone is of my meal.
- To Pretend I Have Money. What people don’t know is that I have to choose between eating brunch for a day and buying groceries for a week. While the economic fallout is nothing short of catastrophic, the deliciousness of the meal typically quells the pain of my freshly ravaged bank account. Regardless, being viewed as a “guy who can afford to brunch regularly” pumps me up and makes me want to start fights. But not bad fights… nice fights. With little kids.
- A Solid Excuse To Day Drink. You can’t tell me it doesn’t feel a little less pathetic to be drinking a $10 mimosa in the sunlight instead of downing a 12-pack of PBR on my living room floor for the same amount. Plus, there’s a distinct charm in day drinking. It’s like having two days in one with a blurry, emotionally draining black hole in the middle. If only my parents taught me the joys of passing out at 3:30 p.m. only to awake two hours later fresh as a spring chicken.
- To Dull The Pain of Being Poor. It’s only going to be really sad when I’m doing this at age 30 and I still have under $50 in my checking account… but being 25 gives you some serious leeway to be fiscally irresponsible and permanently hungry. And, since I’m currently unattached and don’t have any pesky children biting at my heels, I can focus all my attention on forgetting how little money I have and how delicious hollandaise sauce is! Guys, can we get a shot of this hollandaise sauce? Oh, we can’t get a shot? Oh, we’re not filming anything right now? Oh, this isn’t a TV show?
- Sex. Brunch is basically a recipe for afternoon delight. No one ever teaches you that French Toast is way more of an aphrodisiac than oysters or, really, any type of mollusk. French Toast conjures images of a carefree lifestyle and hot summer flings. Ladies and gentlemen, by agreeing to eat French Toast, you’re essentially signing on for an afternoon of unprotected sex –which feels super neat. Plus, all that mid-coitus sweat will surely melt off any accidental maple syrup residue that found its way onto your person. Double win.
- To Blur the Lines of Reality. Look, brunch places; I like the cut of your jib. I appreciate your atmosphere and décor. It’s really fun being fancy, and you’re conducive to keeping me feeling like a total gentleman, but you and I know goddamn well that three eggs, toast, and bottom shelf vodka mixed with glorified pasta sauce doesn’t cost $18. I’m not feasting on nutty caramels with the Ice Queen in Narnia; I just want some goddamn eggs.
- To Feel Like a Grown-Up. Needless to say, it’s hard feeling mature when you’re sucking down Lucky Charms in your boxers at 4:12 p.m. on a weekday. Brunch is the one meal where your faux-adult attitude, dialogue, and hobbies are happily brought to the table with the perfect accouterment of pretension. God, you get the biggest snob-erection discussing books you’ve read and parties you’ve politely declined while sipping on a drink that (for once) wasn’t bought at your local bodega and doesn’t have the word “XXXTRA” or “JOOSE” on the can. Hell, sometimes your drink doesn’t even come in a can!
- To Inspire Lists Like This. What, do you think I’m going to sit down and waste my time writing up an analysis of the tuna sandwich I had the other day? Hell no! Do you know how boring the rest of my meals are during the regular week? Let me break it down for you. Burritos and cupcakes. There, it’s broken down. Brunch is like a handjob. It’s something you can do yourself, but a really good experience is worth talking about.
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