What’s for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe.
There's 8 of us. It's already too fucking much. But whatever. I have my bottomless mimosas, I'm good.
Blonde #1 starts complaining about orange juice. She wants pineapple juice.
My best friend and I slowly look at each other and smirk.
Blonde #2 takes a cute selfie next to the window. (Well as cute a selfie as you can take on a fucking iPhone 5s) Natural light and all. She knows her shit.
The waitress bounces up. "You guys ready to order?"
I lightly bang a fist on the table. "Yes, I want the chilaquiles with salsa verde and chicken. Eggs scrambled. Side of bacon. No toast." There better be enough cheese but I also didn't want to be one of those annoying customers that micromanages every part of their dining experience.
Bestie giggles. "French toast sticks please but with the syrup on the side."
Blonde #3 pipes up. "Can I have the breakfast burger without the bun?"
Everyone at the table groans loudly and laughs. She's sticking to her guns though. She's not consuming carbs, y'all. Apparently, gluten is the devil.
Everyone else places their order, while another server brings us our third bottle of champagne AND a carafe of pineapple juice instead of OJ.
"Oh my God, thank you so much! Orange juice is just...too..thick? Am I wrong?" Blonde #1 chirps, looking around the table.
"What the fuck does that even mean?" My best friend's best friend, who is not me, asks, annoyed.
There's a reason we don't usually invite Bestie's bestie. She's perpetually irritated and aggressive and terrifies all of the Blondes.
I shift in my seat and ignore the ensuing argument. God. The food smells amazing. I hope it comes out soon.
In the meantime, I needed to consume multiple mimosas because these drunk asses are only going to get louder and louder.