There is now a new indignity for Willow to endure as a single Wellington woman. For three weekends in a row, she has been unbrunched.

The dust from her move has settled, the little townhouse in Hataitai is all hers, avocado 1970s kitchen, peach-hued bathroom, and all. She had pictured entertaining in the  rimu breakfast nook. But nobody has been available to come over to her place for a weekend brunch. They are having brunch with someone already, they say, but they don’t say with whom. Willow knows this means they are brunching with another couple, probably of her acquaintance, and that, for whatever reason, the party will not be expanded to include her.

But they can catch up with her later! A drink during the week? Afternoon tea? Or perhaps that new movie on Tuesday night? They can fit her in. Just not for brunch.

Why, she wonders, is she even brooding about this? When she does join a gaggle of couples for brunch, even Wellington’s restaurants conspire against her. A table for an odd number often leaves a chair glaringly empty. By the time the couples are all mixed along the table, Willow is sitting across from this empty chair, a little off kilter from the conversations, shouting to make herself heard, and paying $15 for eggs and toast that would cost her $3 in her own kitchen.

This grim little thought loop will continue until she is invited to brunch. Then all the sins of the unbrunchers and of brunch itself are forgotten.

Tags:   food · social mores · willow1 Comment