My mother-in-law is Mrs. Dalloway. You know, the heroine of Virginia Woolf’s novel, the one played by Meryl Streep in Michael Cunningham’s redemptive retelling of Woolf’s novel in The Hours….she of the adroit manipulation of the social fabric whose metier is relationships–except my mother-in-law is Taiwanese American.
And dangerously web-savvy. I mean, she probably has a Twitter account, and I don’t. Grandmama is texting me about my son and emailing me digital pictures of him eating chocolate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and otherwise behaving like Grandchild Overlord of Their House. Which he is.
And she emails me senselessly cute and completely impractical pictures of bento box lunches made for children that even a retiree like herself would never make. I guess she found these while surfing the web one day. See for yourself.
Cute, but who has time to make these bento box lunches? Mrs. Dalloway-san, you are setting the bar waaaaaay too high.
Mrs. Dalloway? I think you need to come out of the kitchen. Like, now.
Because I hate to break it to you, but half of these are just gonna get thrown in the big garbage can a dozen steps away from the lunch table.
Or worse yet, traded away to an enterprising child with a plain white bread, mustard, and government cheese sandwich. Tell me, who comes out on top in that transaction?