Do you want to know what happens when you get together for Sunday brunch with friends you haven’t seen since Christmas time?

First, you dress up & listen to boat loads of complaining from your husband...due to the fact that you’ve asked him to please put on a shirt without wrinkles or holes in inappropriate places. He does it...with a minimum of eye rolling & soft swearing under his breath.

You drive to the restaurant with the gas meter in the car almost on E because you’re running late & don’t want to stop at a gas station & risk adding to your lateness.

You get to the restaurant 10 minutes late & your friends are already there waiting for you. You get stuck with the crappy chair that must have one leg slightly shorter than the rest...because every time you breathe...the chair wobbles & makes you feel incredibly annoyed or a bit nauseous...or both. Add to this, the fact that you are seated facing the window & can not see a thing if you choose to look straight ahead...because that would mean forcing your eyeballs to look dead on into the sun.

You get over these small inconveniences, after all...being late has it’s price (what’s the saying? The early bird gets the good fucking seat?).

You order breakfast complete with a round of mimosas for your table. One mimosa leads to another...till you lose track of how many you’ve had (if you asked my husband how many I’ve had, he could tell you...he seems to think that it’s part of his job description, as my husband, to keep track of such things).

You have a wonderful time eating great food & chatting with your friends. When you finally look at your watch, you realize that you’ve been having brunch for 2 1/2 hours (& that’s a long time to brunch) but it’s the kind of restaurant where the prices reflect the fact that they would never chase you out.

So you sit in your tilty chair & the sun moves far enough up in the sky so that you can now look in front of you & no longer see yellow spots. Now you see your husband giving you the “time to go” look that he’s probably been giving you for the last hour...but you either couldn’t see it through all of the sunspots on your pupils...or were ignoring it like you’ve been known to do approximately 92.3% of the time.

You hug & kiss your friends goodbye & promise to get together sooner than last time. You walk with hubby to your gas guzzling, uneconomical SUV & drive off with little to no gas in the tank.

You can’t get far running on empty for long & we didn’t. We both cursed the mimosa gods for making us forget to fill ‘r up. We end up walking 10 miles (OK...it was more like 1/2 a mile...but in the shoes I was wearing...it felt like 10) to the nearest gas station. We get a ride back to our car & fill up the gas tank.

We end our weekend comfortably back home...but I know hubby is secretly plotting ways to get out of meeting our other friends (for brunch) next weekend...I know because I've heard him quietly cursing under his breath about it...already.