With every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. I learned that in elementary school before I realized how much fun it is to burn through brain cells every weekend in place of being a productive member of society.
The phrase “Sunday Funday” makes me sick for numerous reasons, but primarily because it rhymes and I imagine a guy wearing white sunglasses and a backwards flat brim saying it. But also because I’ve found that I hate myself less when I choose ice water over drink specials and homemade meals over Monday hangovers.
Unfortunately for all of us, “Sunday Funday” often feels like a good idea. That is, until the reaction to the original action kicks in.
Expectation: “I’m just going to wear this to brunch. It’s not like I’m going out after.”
Reality: [4 p.m.] “Am I the only person at this bar who’s essentially wearing pajamas? Okay, no, nevermind. All these people are in athleisure despite the fact that everyone is a combination of hungover and drunk.”
Expectation: “Ugh, I’m so hungover. No way I can go hard today.”
Reality: “Fine, fine, I’ll do the bottomless mimosas – they make more financial sense anyway.”
Expectation: “I’ll have, like, two mimosas at brunch, go home, nap, and feel normal by the time primetime HBO hits.”
Reality: [9 p.m.] “Fuck, my phone is at 1% and I’m not sure it’s going to last by the time our Uber arrives – also, when did it get so dark out?”
Expectation: “These mimosas aren’t doing it for me. I’m getting a bloody.”
Reality: “Did I really just pay $15 for a bloody mary that came with a beefstick straw, a cheeseburger on top of it, and what appears to be a chicken wing that fell in when the waitress slammed it on the table?”
Expectation: “If I’m home and in bed before the sun goes down, there’s no way I’ll be hungover at work on Monday.”
Reality: [8 a.m. Monday morning] “Did I post anything on Instagram or Snapchat that will be my downfall if I call in sick?”
Expectation: “Yeah, let’s go to another bar. This brunch was nice and all, but I’m not ready to go home.”
Reality: “I think I left my credit card at the last bar. Or was it the one before that? Wait, did we go to one before that?”
Expectation: “Let’s go to that one new bar that opened up a few streets over – I hear they’ve got awesome live music.”
Reality: [Arrives at bar; immediately has a panic attack because of noise levels and crowd]
Expectation: “If I drink enough water between drinks, I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Reality: [8:30 p.m. that night] “Well, we’re about to find out if that whole ‘drink five glasses of water before bed’ hangover remedy works. Oh, God, am I going to pee the bed?”
Expectation: “Alright, it’s getting late. I’m sticking to beer.”
Reality: “Excuse me, barkeep, you got any Gatorade for Gatorade-vodkas? I need to hydrate.”
Expectation: “I’ve spent, like, a million dollars this weekend. You guys go to dinner without me.”
Reality: “Am I really about to spend $39 on Shake Shack? Would it be ridiculous to ask the Favor driver to stop by 7/11 for some Pedialyte?”
Expectation: [Starts watching HBO at 9:45 p.m.] “Ughhhh, I love this show.”
Reality: [Monday night, 7:30 p.m.] “Yeah, I need to rewatch those shows from last night. I hardly remember either of them.]
Expectation: [1:15 immediately following brunch] “You know what? Yeah, I’ll Sunday Funday.”
Reality: [8:15 Monday morning] “I’m way too old for this shit. I’m never drinking again.” .