Easter is such a wonderful holiday. A time to unapologetically chow down on chocolate eggs filled with caramel goodness. A day to admire all those ladies with the crazy, towering hats. And most important, it’s a day to sit back, relax, and drink as much as you possibly can during a one-hour unlimited brunch.
I did all of these things on Easter Sunday. I nibbled on the last of the Godiva chocolate eggs that me and my fiancé both swear we weren’t eating all week. I shared photos of all the crazy costumes from the Easter parade on Twitter and Facebook. And I went to brunch at Yerba Buena with my man and my best friend. I was all set to down as many mimosas as I could while still behaving like an adult and a gentleman. But the girl wearing the bunny ears next to me had other plans.
"In just a few short moments, the loud, jubilant mood of their group turned somber when Bunny Ears started to lose a battle against gravity."
She and her awful friends were wrapping things up just as we were getting started. In just a few short moments, the loud, jubilant mood of their group turned somber when Bunny Ears started to lose a battle against gravity. You know that feeling when you’re so sleepy that you can’t hold your head up? Like the forces of nature are trying to break your neck? That’s what was happening to Bunny Ears. But she wasn’t ready for bed time. She was fucked up.
She went through all the stages of drunkenness. She started out laughing and joking at a volume that was louder than everyone at her table…and everyone else in the restaurant. Then, she hit the wall. If I could’ve seen the world through her eyes, I’m sure it was all moving in slow motion. She tried to fight the good fight, but gravity won out. Then her head drooped on the table. Shortly thereafter, she had her hand cupped over her mouth. And the inevitable happened. Her hour of unlimited drinks started to resurface on the table. This table was about a foot away from me.
As she was rapidly making her way through her drunken stages, I kept a close eye on Bunny Ears. She seemed like trouble. Like the kind of girl who couldn’t handle her liquor. Like the kind of girl who would topple over on our table the minute she tried to walk out of the restaurant without any type of stabilization assistance. I knew she would throw up. Why didn’t her friends catch it? Who were these awful people who presumably knew her well enough to have brunch but not well enough to know when she’d surpassed her daily liquor limit?
I could see numerous patrons around the restaurant turning to look over every few minutes. They all knew what was in store. My best friend and fiancé were unimpressed to say the least. Where I would normally make some kind of inappropriate comment well within earshot of the etiquette offenders, my team had that all taken care of complete with my best friend telling one of the staff members that they needed to get Bunny Ears out of the restaurant.
"After seeming like a lethargic lost cause and leaving her afternoon on the table, she bounced up like Wonder Woman and darted out the door."
Well, out she went. After seeming like a lethargic lost cause and leaving her afternoon on the table, she bounced up like Wonder Woman and darted out the door. Her “friend” stayed behind gathering their jackets and frantically calculating the tip to leave behind on their unsigned checks. One of the wait staff scolded her for letting her severely drunk friend wander out onto the street alone. Mr. Server, surely you can’t think this girl is worried about her “friend” when she didn’t even have the decency to cut her off when she was so far over the edge.
I remember those days. Not so much vomiting in public places (I never did that), but drinking with reckless abandon. Taking FULL advantage of all you can drink brunch like it was my job. Partying my face off in spite of whatever hangover or professional responsibility was ahead of me the next day. But I was always aware of my limits. I knew when I was dangerously close to embarrassing myself or blacking out or making some really bad decisions. And I was lucky enough to surround myself with people who would look out for me when too much alcohol was involved. I never thought it was funny or cool to literally spill my guts on a restaurant table. And I didn’t know anyone who thought it was funny or cool either.
I hope Bunny Ears was mortified enough by her public indiscretion to take it easy next time. Maybe all you can drink brunch just isn’t for her. Maybe she needs a break. Maybe she just needs new friends that will cut her off when she goes too far. Maybe she just needs to grow up. As my fiancé says, her sickness is one that will cure with age.
Well, let’s raise our glasses in a toast to maturity. But not you, Bunny Ears. Not unless your glass is filled with water.