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Brown-Baggin’

April 17, 2009
tags: , ,

There’s a new restaurant that’s opened down the street from my office. This restaurant has an ever-changing menu, and serves mainly wraps and salads. I pretend the food is healthy, merely because it’s not deep fried chicken, but I know it’s really not that healthy. Have I read the nutritional information? No. Have I spoken at length to the chef to ask them what ingredients they use? No. I know it’s not healthy because it tastes fucking good. And anything that tastes THAT fucking good can, in no way, shape or form, be that healthy.

The problem is that the restaurant is expensive. Well, it’s not too expensive. $8 for a wrap. But then you factor in $3 for juice, $2 for chips, and you end up spending over $50 a week for lunch.

So The Wife has decreed that I am to not spend money on lunch for two weeks. So while my co-workers are orgasm-ing (sometimes literally, in a figurative sense) over the daily menu, or bringing KFC or Wendy’s back to work (I don’t especially like KFC, but the smell is intoxicating) I am brown-bagging my lunch. I’m not actually brown-bagging it; a lunchbox is what I’m using. And not a cool or old-school lunchbox. No. I’m using a thermos children’s lunchbox. The same kind of lunchbox I used to cram into my backpack in school, before I became cool enough to buy lunch.

As men, we only have a short time to assert our independence. As a child, the mom controls you. She chooses what you wear, what you eat, and where and when you go. Then, you get older and begin to dress yourself, choose what to eat and how to eat it, and you come and go as you please. Eventually you’re a well-adjusted man, capable of deciding his own destiny.

Then you meet a woman.

Once the relationship turns serious, and especially once you’re living together/engaged/married, your independence falls by the wayside. Your partner now decides what you eat, and where you go. Hence her decree to not eat out (to clarify, I’m not mad. I know she’s merely watching out for my weight and our finances [probably so she can buy a new purse]).

So, seeing as I have to carry my lunch to work in something, I’ve come up with two alternatives to the brown bag and the crappy lunchbox I’m using now.

1. Old-school kickin-it-retro child’s lunchbox

misclunchboxthermos1a

While the image shown here is Transformers, any number of childhood characters can be substituted. G.I. Joe (or Action Man for the Brits). X-Men. Fraggle Rock. Even the Muppets are acceptable. Trolls (the ones with the fluffy hair and lack of genitalia) are even appropriate, as long as they are the manly fighting trolls, not the girly sing-along songs trolls (I won a contest as a kid and received the wrong prize, but that’s another story).

Clearly this lunchbox is so un-cool that it’s cool. There’s scientific evidence behind this, but it’s far too complex to go into detail about here.

2. Really old-school construction-worker’s lunchbox

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This lunchbox brings my dreams of eating lunch on a girder thousands of feet above New York City with 7 other dirty men without the slightest hint of a safety harness, ready to plummet to my death if I so much as choke on my bologna and rye sandwich. Ahhh, good times. Construction sure ain’t what it used to be.

So if anyone knows where I can get one of these lunchboxes (brand new please, no dirty eBay items for me) then please let me know. Better yet, send me one. Then I’ll finally be a cool kid. Or a 1930’s construction worker. You get the idea. 

 

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