Your mother is always right, except about one thing. Remember when your mom told you not to bite the hand that feeds you?
When your mom told you that, you were probably still wearing capris and putting glitter on your eyelids before you left for school in the morning. She wasn’t thinking far enough forward to qualify her statement to prepare for your future.
She never considered what you would feel like waking up the next day after you powered through a game day tailgate and partied well into the night. She never looked ahead to ~sprang brake~ and the fact that you might need to get out of bed at 9 a.m. and be poolside with a headache that would cripple Zeus himself. She never thought about your inevitable encounter with the Devil’s Juice (cheap tequila, obvs).
The moral of this story? Sometimes when booze bites you, you have to bite back (way) harder. Ladies and gents, I’m talking about a drunk brunch. Take your advil, grab your sunglasses and find the nearest bougie brunch spot, because no one should have to live through Sunday without a mimosa.
Step One: Locate cell phone and notify your best friends about the severity of your hangover.
Step Two: Just dress. No need to impress.
Step Three: Sunglasses. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T FORGET YOUR SUNGLASSES.
Step Four: Bottomless mimosas or bust. IT’S ECONOMICAL, OKAY. It’s like a BOGO, except it’s a BOGT (buy one get two. or ten. or twentyhundredmillionthousand I’M NOT HERE TO JUDGE YOU).
Step Five: Recount every detail of last night with your friends. Spare no one. Everything is less embarrassing when you are armed with a mimosa OMG NO I DID NOT CALL HIM 46 TIMES okay yes I did it was 45 and a voicemail #oops.
Step Six: Watch your snap story. Watch everyone’s snap story. Watch just once more. Okay cool you can delete those now.
Step Seven: Don’t forget to order food. No really, you should probably eat something. GUYS WE SHOULD ORDER MEALS. Oh, hi, yes please waiter I would like a refill of my mimosa and for breakfast I’ve decided on a Bloody Mary.
Step Eight: Revel in the fact that your hangover has miraculously disappeared. The best detox is a retox, amirite?
Step Nine: Knock back your last mimosa before your two hour window for the bottomless deal is over. Shed a single tear. (But really, excuse me restaurant people, can I live?)
Step Ten: NAP TIME. (After you uber home, of course). Here’s hoping you have blackout curtains in your room.