Mom…Happy Mother’s Day, even though I don’t think you read this blog, nor am I terribly sure you know what a blog is exactly.
Today, we’re going to celebrate the fact that 30 years ago (give or take a day or so) you, in a rush of horrible puns, gave birth to a strappling young baby boy who would later grow into a strapping young lad who somehow turned into me. In order to celebrate this act, we’re going to be going to Heroes for brunch. (For those not in the know, Heroes is probably the finest non-Mexican restaurant in all of Warrensburg, MO and was a natural choice for a Mother’s Day brunch.)
Ah the Mother’s Day brunch. The culinary institution of Mother’s Day.
I have to admit, I’m jealous of the Mother’s Day brunch. As a father, I am quite sore that there’s no Father’s Day brunch. I mean I totally understand that the idea of the Mother’s Day brunch is to give busy moms a fantastic meal so she can take at least one meal off.
On Father’s Day…nothing. Is there a Father’s Day buffet? No. Instead, I’m supposed to get a new grill implement and I’m supposed to stand over the grill and cook. What’s up with that?
I want a Father’s Day buffet. I want the meats I am to have grilled all in a line for me buffet style. I want variety. I don’t want to have to work for it.
I mean I’m not saying I do the same amount of work as my wife does…but I still don’t want to have to cook!