"We have 'nonchalant,' so the concept of chalance exists. What about 'chalant?'" These are the kind of thoughts I grew up with, these in particular coming from the mind of George Carlin. It would be naive of me to suggest that it was simply these comedians and clever-types who broadened my mind without including the people who introduced me to most of them: My parents. I appreciate that they gave me the freedom to explore the questions that plagued me, and I am grateful for all that opportunity in my search for truth. One of the lingering challenges I have, however, is that all this free-thinking led to one of my outstanding quandaries in life: Brunch.
I have never been a big breakfast fan, though I have always enjoyed a big bowl full of sugary cereal. The phrase "stays crunchy, even in milk" was written with me in mind. That's probably because I have never cared for mushy food. The appeal of oatmeal mystifies me. This distrust was probably further fueled by another comedian, Bill Cosby: "My mother would put in
a lot of raisins to try to disguise the fact that the lumps were
there." What were those lumps, anyway? I wasn't interested in finding out. Then there was that whole issue of eggs and their relative squishiness. I prefer my food to be more of a chore to chew.
For this reason, when it was suggested to me that brunch would be served and that I had no hope of redeeming those suspect poached eggs with a nice chewy sandwich for lunch, I was forlorn. I am a huge fan of order and process, and this idea of skipping a meal and pushing it into some gray area, hitherto limited to between meal snack status seemed like a cheat. What was next? Collapsing lunch and dinner into mid-afternoon and calling it "lunner?" Could this be where the elusive "supper" that I had heard so much about originated?
I'm an adult now, and I still hold pretty tight to those scheduled three meals. If I miss one, I expect to make up for it at the next opportunity. I don't try and manufacture dining opportunities that coincide with my wakefulness. Sleeping in until ten just means that I have two hours to wait until lunch. This puts me at odds with my wife who happens to be a big fan of brunch. And oatmeal. I wonder how she feels about chalance.