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September
30
2024

The Ladies Who’d Rather Brunch — Guest Post by Gaudia Certaminis
William Briggs

I cannot take credit for this insight, but the young people of today—and by young let’s say under 40—have a decision to make between having kids or going to brunch.

This is not meant to be a dump on the avocado-toast fanciers, but is a succinct way to describe the priorities of the generation who is supposed to be begetting the souls that will carry us forward as a nation.

Brunch-goers are them who like a bit of a lie-in on the weekend. They like a slow roll of the morning. The more ambitious will go to yoga first, but never church. They will show up at their appointed spot, and begin with a Bloody Mary or a Mimosa and continue with an overpriced preparation of eggs, undoubtedly farm-raised, with glorious orange yolks, and perhaps with a scrap of bacon that was smoked on the farm in the next county. There is nothing inherently wrong with whiling away a morning, lubricated with a bit of alcohol and an expensive meal—but what is wrong is what it represents.

Brunch is often accompanied by Friends. Brunch is not really a couples activity. In rare cases it might be, but there is more romance in more intimate pastimes or other meals that are shared à deux. Brunch is really an extension of nightlife—which itself can be costly. Not only is there the meal, the drinks but the trip to salon for the hair style, the manicure, the cute outfit. In a word, brunch is an expensive proposition—it isn’t only the $40 meal with never-ending drinks—the true cost includes the little extras, particularly for the female of the species, that can easily run into the hundreds of dollars.

It should be noted that Brunch aficionados are not necessarily heterosexually inclined males and females. Brunch is the center of the social life of many who declare themselves to be transsexual or indulge in other non-procreative passions. No matter how they present themselves, the common thread is that the decision has been made to prioritize brunch over having children.

Having children is costly. Not only in monetary terms of diapers, daycares, and other things children might need (note that between social classes there wide variation in what constitutes a child’s need). I mean the cost in worry. Worry about their health and the endless cold they can’t seem to shake. Wondering if the deductible was met. Doubts about the future. Doubts about the children’s ability to cope with the world they’ve been given.

In rare cases, intrepid parents, the ones who claim that having a child will not crimp their lifestyle, will ask for a high chair at the brunch table. Junior will dutifully raise his little juice cup in a toast, but the Friends quickly grow weary of such tropes. Sadly, the new parents find themselves left off the group chat, and are no longer offered a seat at the table, and will be left to cope with life without Friends on their own. The exclusion is not voluntary, and it stings a bit more than for the person who willfully forgoes Brunch for children.

These creatures are freed. There is no need to meet up on a regular basis with quasi-friends, acquaintances, workmates, and singletons looking for love. There is no compulsion to go to the same place, order the same plate, smile and nod at the various re-tellings of a stock anecdote, and nurse that same not-quite-a-headache that casts a pall over the rest of a Sunday afternoon. The Brunch-deniers are past caring what other people think, and have given up posturing and preening for those who are not worth the effort.

For the Brunch-free, one’s free time and free cash is devoted to the child, the children, the home, the spouse. One will happily exchange the empty hours leaning against the brunch table vainly trying to catch the waiter’s eye for a refill of coffee for a regular Sunday dinner. There may be modifications in the menu, but the main cast of characters—one’s family—seated around the table stay the same.

One table nurtures and nourishes a family and the other feeds into fleeting Instagram moments that alas, will be forgotten tomorrow. The question is—which one to choose?

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William M. Briggs was born in Detroit at the height of its majesty. When he left, it went into the crapper. Coincidence?

 

 

https://substack.com/@wmbriggs

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