Well, my pets, soon two lucky people will be in Snuggie Heaven. While you hem and haw over who those two people might be, take a fricken gander at this.
NPR, this is all your fault.
I was washing sippy cups this fine evening—now my favorite pastime—when a program about childhood obesity came on. While I was listening and scalding my hands, visions of people’s blogs started running through my mind—more specifically, blogs belonging to women who are posting pictures of their homemade advent calendars, cookies, lemon bars, and crafty what have yous. The stuff is pretty and the women know it, otherwise why would everyone and their mother be writing about them?
For God’s sake.
Anyway, one of the people who called in to the NPR show started talking about how all these poor fat kids are coming to school with prepackaged lunches and how the lack of parental meal planning is a major contributor to the extra pudge.
And that’s when I saw him: Junior, 2018. A 500-pound third grader who can’t bend over to tie his own shoes. His nickname: Junior Whopper. All because I don’t know how to cook and I send him to school with Oscar Meyer Lunchables. Day after day after nitrate-ridden day.
I threw down the sippy cup and picked up the eggplant that’s been sitting on my counter for an entire week and I thought, tonight is the night. Chuck’s working late, I’ll surprise him with homemade eggplant. I’ll channel all the crafty maternal know-how that’s percolating in the blogosphere and I’ll make it work.
Halfway through my eggplant endeavor, I started drinking and stopped giving it my best. Maybe it was the rising smoke or the succulence of that third Otter Creek Copper Ale. Maybe I just couldn’t shake the vision of my baby lumbering down the hallway, getting pegged in the head by spitballs spat by other people’s children—children of parents who can bake, macramé, and Chia pet. Yah, that’s a verb (I swear to God if the Chia pet people read this and send me samples I will scream!).
So fine, I can’t blame it solely on NPR. Clearly the eggplant people should start labeling their damn produce with cooking instructions. Or maybe Oscar Meyer can start doing Velunchables made from carrots and green beans and save me from having a catastrophic meltdown.
Speaking of meltdowns, I have a pan to soak and a 6-pack to finish. Oh, and I need to wake up Junior so he can pick a winner. I'm surprised he slept through the smoke alarm...well, tonight's smoke alarm anyway.
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