Mother’s Day Brunch Buffet ’09: How weak are the University of Texas Golf Club mimosas? I had to give the kid like 4 of’em before she would consent to pose with cherry-eyes. Photo by Tidy Faster.
Another Mother’s Day come and gone. It seems like only yesterday.
It will cause no one’s world to come crashing down around them when I aver that Mother’s Day is like a poke in the lobe with a prickly probe. It’s insipid and sentimental and highlights like no other fake holiday the line of demarcation between the Judeo-Christian heterosexes.
O, Mother dear! We love you so much we can only express it through this Hallmark card! Oh, and where are our clean socks?
And it practically goes without saying that any event involving a mandatory brunch buffet deserves the stink-eye.
Why does it always have to be a brunch buffet? Brunch is an aberrant, grotesquely heavy meal, and the buffet is the worst mediocre-food-delivery-system ever invented. Buffets! They’re worse than cafeterias! Not only do you have to crowd up for the grub like a waif in a Victorian orphanage, but the potential pathogen load multiplies exponentially when there are no dedicated servers dishing the crap out. Anybody might sneeze up a loogey into the vat of Chicken Core D’onbloo, and who’d be the wiser? Mysterious food items with heavy sauces hardening in chafing dishes, 10-year-old boys scooping up the crab claws with their bare hands, horrid mixtures of orange juice concentrate and warmish $5 Asti Spumante with maraschino cherries — euruhhgh. I mean it.
It is indicative of the low value placed on American motherhood that Mother’s Day is the only fake holiday where crappy, artery-clogging, self-service food, “complimentary” cheap mimosas, and a few brown-edged roses are considered the ultimate expression of filial gratitude.