Dear Bento box lunch-making mamas,
You crazy crafty bitches who set unrealistic expectations by waking up at 5 a.m. every damn day to sculpt gluten-free rice balls into cute little edible koala bears and carve cucamelons into tiny watermelon baskets—I’m talking to you.
Not only have you set the bar way too high with your hard-boiled eggs molded into Pokémon characters but your fantastical refreshments are handicapping our children. They don’t even have to imagine shit anymore. We need them to grow up to be innovative forward-thinking leaders who are going to save our planet—not a bunch of pansy eaters with minds as limp as jellyfish. Global Warming, “The Big One,” and Donald Trump (who would make a spectacular Bento character chiseled out of a carrot, by the way)—this shit is real! You’re setting up the next generation for life being one big fat disappointment if they’re expecting a curated array of art every time their bellies rumble. You don’t get this many options in the real world. Take a number, tiny shithead, and step in line.
Speaking of taking a number, how in the holy hell is your kid going to be able to survive the DMV if he hasn’t suffered through a cafeteria lunch line? Spoiled rotten humans don’t have a tremendous amount of patience; it’s scientifically proven. All those hours spent spearing fruit kabobs, carving cheddar cheese blocks into ladybugs, transforming bananas into dolphins, and whittling away Ballpark franks into “octodogs” are damaging your kiddo’s character.
Whatever happened to “you get what you get and you don’t get upset”? Sometimes life hands you a smashed-up peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder Bread and you have to swallow it. Wash it down with some room-temperature milk; that’s what I did and I’m still alive.
I understand this Bento shit is an art form, and a good housewife doesn’t want her MFA to go to waste (especially when her husband is paying off the student loans and wants to see some work produced). But maybe if you invested your energies in a piece of art that you can hang on your wall instead of on creations that will literally get flushed down the toilet in a few days (three, on average), you would get a better return for your time and money. Just a thought.
Life rarely hands you a $100 designer monogrammed Bento box filled with organic, non-GMO food sculptures. So, unless you were a Japanese trust fund baby, put down the paring knife, get a life, and give your kid a fucking Lunchable.
Brown Bag Lunch Mom