So, it’s Easter. Or Zombie Ham day. Which ever one you choose to celebrate. But today I went to a fancy brunch. I mean a really fancy brunch. So fancy I wasn’t allowed to wear jeans… or really any pants. I was allowed to wear ladies dress slacks. For those of you that don’t know, I only own like 2 pairs of pants. They are both jeans. One of them I have had for years, and Bryant’s mum was so fed up with them not fitting me that she bought me some for Christmas this year. I was trying to save them to be my nice pants, but life is funny like that. They are still nice though, don’t get me wrong, I just wear them every single day. It happens when you don’t have other pants to wear. I do wear my jammies a lot, because they are comfy and I like to be comfy. I don’t think jammies would have flown at all where we were going though.
So, I get dressed, nice shirt that fits and my nice jeans. We sit and wait for the rest of the house to get ready. Bryant’s mum comes down and says that I can wear jeans and that I should wear a dress. Apparently we weren’t going to Bryant’s grandparents house, but their country club where jeans are not allowed. I have a total of ONE (1) dress with me at the moment. It doesn’t fit anymore in the boobie area and is quite short on someone as tall as me. For some reason, I’m trying to change with my boots on. I notice that with the dress on (I held it in as much as I could to get it to fit) that you could see my underwear. So that’s an embarrassment that I don’t want to live through. I hurriedly take those off (with my boots on) and the dress comes undone to my waist. I get frustrated and take the dress off. Bryant is trying to help me at this point because we’re going to be late if I don’t hurry. He keeps telling me to take off my boots. My underwear are stuck to my boot.
I’m frustrated by this point. Bryant keeps telling me that I can wear his clothes and the fact that the pants I wear (which are 4 inches longer than his) won’t be noticeable since I’m wearing my boots and you won’t be able to tell that they are too short. I grumble something about not wanting to look like a man. Bryant’s grandparents are the fanciest people I know. The last thing I want to do is show up at the fancy brunch at the exclusive country club to which I was invited too by the fanciest people I know. So I tell him no and rummage through the clean laundry. I have ONE (1) set of nice clothes that I wear to interviews. I have a nice top that does not have a bottom. So, ONE nice set of clothes. They had just been washed and I grabbed them off the top. But them back on with my boots still present on my feet.
I was unaware of the fancy-ness of this gathering before I arrived. In my nicest clothes, I still stood out. We got to the country club and walked in with Bryant’s grandpa, who was parking the car after dropping Bryant’s grandma off at the door (fancy fancy people, seriously) and we walked in with them. The host said hello to Bryant’s grandpa in a very formal greeting, this guy even knew his name. Boom, felt out of place number one. But since I was with Bryant’s grandpa I was all (in my head) “Yo, I’m with the cool guy” but I just smiled at the people we passed. I was sat down, offered champagne (it was 10 am) and received an beautiful chocolate egg from Bryant’s grandma. So, this was good, I had a drink, I had good people, and I was about to have some food.
I get up to get the brunch. Bryant comes with me. The people around me live in houses that have house payments that I wouldn’t make in a year if I had a job. I trip just a little bit and I feel my face get a little warm. I think to myself “It’s all good no one noticed.” I grab a plate. This plate is older than me and rimmed with gold. Second thought, “Do not drop this, you will not hear the end of it”. I get to the breakfast bar and all of a sudden, as my luck would have it, TONS OF PEOPLE ARE SUDDENLY BEHIND ME. So my inner monologue goes a little something like this “We can do this, we’re good, just get your food, ooooh roasted potatoes, those should be-” “Damnit!” I dropped the serving spoon. The lady behind gasps a little and her very dapper son gasps with her. I murmur an apology and pick the spoon up off the floor and take it to the wait staff. From their reaction, no one has EVER dropped a serving instrument at Sunday Brunch before me and they all ran in different directions to try to remedy the situation. My face is red by now. The woman who I swore at by mistake it looking at me with a mixture of horror and distaste. She hasn’t moved in line and lets me continue in front of her. Her son is asking her why I am there and why can’t he go ahead of me. There are now MORE people in line behind me. Who are ALL staring at me. I mouse back to the front of the line and lift the next lid. Bryant’s dad tried to lighten the situation a little bit by cracking a joke and a few people chuckled uncomfortably, but I felt a little better that I wasn’t the only non-fancy person there.
The next try had bacon in it. I love bacon, it’s the best food on the planet. I hold the tongs in my hand, and try to be as confident as possible. I would give you a cookie if I had you guess what happens next BUT, it’s pretty obvious. I drop my bacon. I drop A LOT of bacon. I am so embarrassed at this point that I catch it with my hip before it hits the floor and just put it on my plate. I go sit down and drain my champagne glass; which had become a mimosa in my absence, for which I was very grateful. The lady comes through and re-fills my glass. Right now she is my best friend.
Today, I learned that I am not a rich person. Even if I had all the money in the world, I could never be a rich person. I could never wear high end brands. I do not fit in with huge groups of really fancy people. I think I’ll keep my lifestyle even if I do get a lot of money. It’s too hard to be a ‘proper’ lady.
I hope you all survived my parenthe-crazy post. Oh, and next time I will have to pick something more difficult to guess when I make something.