What to Wear to Brunch: On Rhinestones, Religion, and the Art of Laughing it Off

I have a confession to make: I love "ugly" stuff. Give me the kitschy kitchen gadgets and the questionable vintage finds every time. It’s not just about the aesthetic; it’s a nostalgia trip back to childhood.

Take, for example, my current favorite sweater. It is aggressively ugly, complete with enough rhinestones to be seen from space. My sister hilariously dubbed it “The Sweater Trap.” It’s a social paradox: If someone says it’s nice, I want to correct them because it’s clearly hideous, but I don’t want to insult their taste. If they were to say it’s ugly (which, let’s be honest, no one is quite that bold), I’d just agree. My sister says the viewer is damned if they do and damned if they don’t. But I see it differently: the sweater is funny. By wearing it, I’m in on the joke. I’m making fun of myself before anyone else can.

The lesson? Don’t care too much about the labels people put on you. Just stay funny and always, always laugh it off.

A Seat at Every Table

Humor is the ultimate coping mechanism, and as my ex used to say—a man who claimed people became Jewish just for the jokes—everybody eats. He used to call bacon and shrimp "sacrelicious." It’s that kind of wit that gets you through the day.

I’ve been lucky to sit at many tables. I once dated a man with the beautiful name Al Momin (“The Believer”). His father taught me to make Garam Masala from scratch, and his Spanish mother made a paella that I still dream about. Part of the reason I loved him was for that food.

I’m Catholic—that’s what I’m supposed to be, though that’s a story for another time. But regardless of the kitchen or the church, I believe with all my heart that "love your neighbour" is the only profound truth we have. Kindness shouldn't depend on reciprocity. Every bit of good you do creates a ripple effect, spreading to people you’ll never even meet.

The Fractal of Peace

I like to think of "love your neighbour" as a fractal. If two neighbors can find a way to love one another despite their differences, then two countries can, too. Peace starts at the fence line and scales up to the border. That’s my truth.

Because I am differently-abled, I cannot work, though I would if I could. Instead, I practice what I call the “Canadian Application of Lady and Sir.” I address those who work with these titles because I am genuinely grateful for what they do. A compliment costs nothing, but it acknowledges a shared humanity.

The Inward Compass

Disability and poverty are not "other" things; they are things that can happen to anyone at any time. If you are healthy, if you have a plate of food, if you are breathing—you are lucky.

My dad was one of the funniest people I ever knew. Even when he was too sick to get out of bed, he insisted we eat dinner with a giant poster of his face sitting at the head of the table. We did. We laughed because he gave us permission to.

If I’ve learned anything about the moral compass, it’s this: It doesn't point at a specific group of people. It always points inward. Mea culpa. So, if someone says something you don’t like, laugh it off. Tell a self-deprecating joke. Let people wear the "ugly" sweaters and cook the weird food. Stay kind, stay grateful, and for heaven's sake, stay funny until the day you die. Survive! And eat food that doesn't make you sad xo