Bitches Who Brunch Vs. Ladies Who Lunch

Went out just this past Sunday, surveying the long-fabled bitches who brunch and—what do ya know?—there are said bitches right now. No, no. Not that homeless man. Right—right there, yes, you got it, flower headband: spot on. Because it really is the flower headband that draws you in first, don’t you think? That, or the twinkle in their gold Tory Burch pendant. Either/or.

Ladies who lunch are different. They can be identified by their remarkable resemblance to Anne Hathaway. Refined, yet distinctly annoying. But, try to peg what it is, specifically, that makes them annoying and you’ll be at a loss. They’re kind of enigmas.

Brunch is literally the air that bitches breath; the water, that keeps them alive and hydrated with the zest and passion needed to triumphantly trudge through endless rejections. In fact, one of the many maxims they live by (that also happens to be hand-stitched onto their throw pillows) is: the more brunches the better. Which is why you’ll often find a bitch managing three brunches in one day. Other things they love? Saying the words “swoon”, “bitchtastic”, and “frenemies”; unused workout gear; brunching in a bikini; they love a good unpaid intern; and Instagramming the shit out of their brunches with captions like “Brunch with the roomie!” “Brunch with my girlfriends!” or “Love brunching #BrunchingGood.” If you refer to that last sentence, you’ll notice I didn’t include a potential hook-up in the brunchers—an intentional and crucial decision on my part because, you see, contingent on being a bitch who brunches is not getting laid the night before. And that doesn’t count bitches with boyfriends, who don’t know when to leave their boyfriend behind and will instead bring him along to brunch, cramping other bitches’ styles. Bitches might even whine, “Ugh, why’d you have to bring him?” because another crucial characteristic of a b who b’s is political incorrectness—which, evidently, you can’t blame them for because they are completely self-unaware. Bitches are intrinsically cranky and dehydrated, and they can’t even hear the volume of their own voice. Still confused? Refer to video below for self-proclaimed bitches who brunch, IRL!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1KaEZOrOZU&w=584&h=390]

Whereas ladies tend to have that boyfriend glow going on. Oh, no? No boyfriend for you? So you mean you’re just naturally glowing, in addition to being naturally confident, successful, and self-possessed? Well then fuck you. Other things ladies who lunch love: their dog, their new pixie cut, when the restaurant owner stops by their table to say hello, and a nice slab of turkey bacon.

Have a minute-long tête-à-tête with a bitch and you’ll immediately notice that, during brunch, bitches be tired. That’s what those oversized sunglasses are for—for shrouding their haggard eyes. They’re tired—you can certainly count on that!—but most of all hungry. Because bitches aren’t going back to sleep after this without some food to first suppress their vomit.

Whereas ladies be like, maybe I did go out last night, maybe I didn’t! You’ll never know. Because, for reasons unknown, I was born with skin that doesn’t react to guzzling 4 whiskey sours and getting five hours of sleep. All happy and shit.

Once bitches be seated, they all up on that day drinking tip. In fact, the second their “bottomless” Mimosas reach half empty, you can bet your ass that they’ll start nervously eyeing their server and breaking out into hives.

Ladies, on the other hand, never fret over their quickly-diminishing Bellinis. They’re too caught up in their intellectual conversation about how Italian men make better lovers than Korean men. They also genuinely appreciate the brunch spot’s decision to replace Heinz ketchup with an organic, local, vegan, and poop-tasting brand.

It goes without saying that bitches love a good selfie. As soon as they wake up, bitches be all like, “Ooooh, look at me! Selfie time in the full-length mirror!” all post-drinking adrenalined-up, sweating maybe a little more than usual, eye twitching at an irksome rate, but all around in tip top shape! And that high carries over to the first half of brunch, oh yes siree! Don’t you forget it. Well, actually, you literally won’t be able to forget it because those girls will be in line and they’ll shout it at the top of their lungs until they can’t shout no more (typically because their iPhone buzzed)! And so, my point is, is that these girls are loud as fuck…until they aren’t. And that’s when they crash. And when they crash, they crash hard. Because LET ME TELL YOU a bitch. can. sleep. Oh she’ll sleep and she won’t even brush before! Most times, actually. Or floss. Because, ultimately, bitches don’t got time for that shit.

Ladies, as it happens, never find themselves waiting in line (I wonder: do they hire people for that?). And where bitches tend to pass out after brunch, ladies tend to pass through museums. But don’t expect a museum selfie because ladies don’t even know what “selfie” means. They’re just those types of women who somehow continue to be cool while remaining on the periphery of trends. You see, they haven’t quite grasped the redundancy of food blogs and so will therefore continue snapping photos of their food. It must be noted, however, that the food in question is pulled pork hash, which instantly makes up for any lost points due to the whole food blog thing. In fact, an aloofness when it comes to trends is a lady’s best quality. She is entirely self-aware, and vehemently against unpaid interns.