June 19, 2012
What’s only available on the weekends, doesn’t exist before 12pm, and is always blackout? Betches, fucking duh. Oh, and brunch.
Brunch is a betch’s spirit meal. It’s kind of like confession, except that instead of atoning for your sins, you brag about them, and instead of saying hail marys, you drink bloody ones. When it comes to our eating, allowances are made for brunch food, because brunch is chic and fun and it leads to a better life. For the main meal a betch’s only consideration should be ordering whatever sounds the most photogenic. Would you like Hefe with that?
Finding the perfect brunch spot can be tricky, because in addition to being popular among betches, brunch is also favored by people who just really enjoy pancakes and cheese frittatas, namely, the obese. Betches don’t give a shit about the cuisine. It's all about finding the perfect ambiance. You know you’ve found the right brunch scene when the line is out the door and the dining room is occupied by fellow betches wearing Raybans and fuck off faces. You know you’ve found the wrong place when it’s sober or like, child-friendly.
As with all occasions except maybe sample sales, betches should try to get there on the #108 later side. The more delayed your eventual appearance, the more fun you had the night before, so the idea is to build suspense around your entrance. If you don’t have at least ten missed calls, take two shots and go back to sleep. You know you’ve come at the right time when your bestie is on the phone with the local morgue, for example.
Above all, brunch is a safe, relaxing place. Partying is like, really stressful for us sometimes, but brunch is all about healing. It’s like a crash rehab that’s designed to cure our hangovers by getting us drunk again, to celebrate that none of us are a Miranda and to replenish our souls with a side of #1 shit talking. Betches know that only some things in life are certain, like drunken confessions of love from our high school ex, being the hottest girl at our sorority formal and the therapeutic power of a good, drunken brunch. So betches, be classy. Be chic. Order a fucking Bellini, and leave niceties to the ladies who lunch. Betches do brunch.