Brunch Advice

Dear Butch,

Late mornings / early afternoons on Sunday bring the gathering of friends around the table.  The great gathering of brunch, a favorite amongst the lesbian breed.  We join together over comfort food and caffeine to recall, recount, and regret the shenanigans from the evening before.

This morning, my friends and I convened over a small booth and enjoyed this ritual.  I noticed when you walked in, at first it was due to your amazing muscles and tousled faux-hawk.  I was to tired to flirt, but the eye candy gave me a jolt of energy.  I turned back to my party and didn’t focus back into until we were heading out.  This time, I zoned in to one single factor…your fucking sunglasses.

I understand hangovers.  I understand sensitive eyes.  I understand fashion.

What I don’t understand is why in this small dimly lit restaurant you were still wearing your sunglass an hour after your arrival.  If you are still so ill from your adventures from the night before, why are you at brunch?  I noticed that you were barely moving and you had neglected your cup of coffee, leaving it to cool to cry from being ignored.  Your crew had stopped trying to have direct interaction with you and now was trying to carry on court around your lifeless body in the middle of the bench.

Next time, stay at home.  Please.  For the sake of your friends. your java, and your health.



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