Who: Laura, Hilary, Kath, Greta, and Mel
Where: Denton, MD (just off 404)
What: Watermelon slices, pasta salad, cole slaw to start, veggie omelet, home fries (for the table) the most buttery delicious biscuit ever in America, and fountain diet coke

There’s no point in denying credit where credit is due. The Bitches nailed it.  It never in a million years would have ever crossed our sunburned little minds to randomly exit the freeway at a seemingly desolate off-ramp en route home from a vodka soaked  weekend in Rehoboth. It just wouldn’t have. Had the Bitches not written about Cindy’s Country Store, the epitome of a hole-in-the-wall roadside diner/market/deli/antique shop that looks like every other hole-in-the-wall roadside diner/market/deli/antique shop between the beach and DC, we would have just driven right past, eventually stopped to get some combos at a gas station, and missed out on what could very well be the best culinary experience in the last 64(ish) brunches.

But still, I am freaking out a little bit. It is certainly irrational, and there is no way to explain it that doesn’t make me sound like a childish lunatic, but I don’t care—no matter how good Cindy’s was, no matter how nice it was to avoid the inevitable frantic annoying googling and yelping and urban spooning that comes with a road trip, no matter how convenient it was to know that there was sure to be a brunch-sized pot of gold at the end of the Cindy’s rainbow, one thought keeps running in my mind: does this now make me obsolete? Did the Bitches kill 100daysofbrunch with their superior knowledge and ability to be everywhere at once??? Have I learned nothing from the lessons taught by Seinfeld and Cheers of quitting while you’re ahead, and instead driving myself down into a How I Met Your Mother-inspired purgatory??  JUST TELL US WHO THE MOTHER IS!!! WE DON’T EVEN CARE ANYMORE!!!!

Bitches, I don’t even know you, and you certainly don’t know me. From what I can tell via facebook/twitter, we have a couple mutual acquaintances and we all shop at the P Street Whole Foods. You probably walk by me on the way to yoga, stand in line behind me at FroZENyo, and have made out with my ex-boyfriend (Whatever not that I even care. I’ve probably made out with your ex-boyfriend, too.). We might even be friends if we met one day on the roof of Marvin, or while attending a post-John Stewart rally party where we would bond over what a shitshow it was and how we feel so bad for all those people who came in from out of town thinking it was somehow going to be better organized than the purple ticket tunnel Obama inauguration fiasco. Who knows?

So until that day comes, I guess there’s not much I can really do. I’ll just write my take on Cindy’s with my own personal pizazz and flair. It doesn’t necessarily have to be the same as the Bitches, right?  It’s not like we even have the same audience (minus Hilary, who actually found their post). Maybe we can all eventually learn to coexist in a world where there are TWO DC brunch blogs, mine and theirs? And let me just go out on a limb here and say that since the Bitches most certainly don’t care about ANY of this, so why am I making it so awkward!?!? UGH!

To be perfectly honest, though, I don’t have a ton more to say about Cindy’s other than what the Bitches already said. We got a refreshing and very necessary tray of watermelon brought to our table in our time of most desperate need (hopefully Cindy didn’t see that we were already diving into the oyster crackers), the people working there were amazingly cheerful and nice, taking all of our special orders and making us feel like we were regulars who had been coming for generations (I even got a private tour of some of the their most prized knickknacks in the back), and everything was fresh and delicious and homemade and plentiful and DRENCHED in butter. We enjoyed our food with the same crazy wild abandon as a pair of 8th graders at summer camp behind the nature shack, knowing they only have another 6 minutes before they’ll get caught. It was epic. We were hungry. We NEEDED it.

So in the end, what do I have to say about Cindy’s and the Bitches? Well it’s sort of a chicken and the egg scenario—without the Bitches, we never would have found Cindy’s. But without Cindy’s, I never would have found a place in my heart for the Bitches. (Hmmm this does not appear to be entirely the correct analogy…) To Cindy: Great way to wrap up a weekend at the beach. We’ll certainly stop by next time we’re driving through! And to the Bitches: I’m sure our paths will cross at some point soon. In the meantime, I’m sorry I made out with your ex-boyfriends.