Thankfully, Ace is old enough to pack her own lunch or figure out on her own when she wants to buy whatever crap the school district is serving.
When she wasn’t old enough though, it was mostly momma who took care of making sure it got done. When one parent does something almost exclusively, the other never learns to do it correctly. When it came to lunch packing, that was me.
So of course, one day a couple of years ago now, when the task somehow fell on my shoulders, Ace wasn’t liking the school lunch offering and I had to pack her little butt a lunch, in spite of my protestations that it’d be so much easier if she’d suck it up, take daddy’s three bucks and just eat the goddamn spinach, squid burger or whatever they were serving up that day for lunch.
She refused to buy her lunch though so that meant that there was a lunch that needed to be packed and sent to school with her. Not only that, but I also had to send some sort of snack to get her through her difficult afternoon of ass grabbing, playing 7up or doing whatever it is that kids do in school now.
Long story short, when she got home from school, I got a ration of shit from her because her afternoon snack was some sort of candy bar or sandwich cracker contraption or something that had…..ohmyfuckinggod…..peanuts in it! I’m sure I unloaded a bunch of Halloween candy on the class because it was taking up space in our pantry!
My then 6 or 7 year old daughter proceeded to give me quite a verbal undressing about what an irresponsible parent I was for allowing her to bring such a horrible substance into her school building. I remember thinking 1) I might punch you in the face, little girl, 2) thank you Jesus for only giving me one daughter out of three possibilities, and 3) it was a simple peanut product!
Whoah there sister!
Last time I checked, I’m the daddy in this house and if anybody is going to be snarky, disrespectful and implicitly call another family member an idiot, it’s gonna be me!
I’m not 100% sure of the policy, even to this day, but apparently, peanut products are OK for lunch, but not for classroom snack time. The “peanut kids”, as they call them, can be segregated in the vastness that is the cafeteria, but they’re less capable of escaping death by peanut in the much smaller classroom.
Now I know many of you, even several of my real life friends who will read this, are very sensitive to the fact that your children are vaginas and can’t be within 100 feet of a peanut without swelling up like a manatee and requiring an epipen be jammed into his or her leg, but I don’t care right this very second. I’ll care again tomorrow, I’m sure, but let me have right now.
Hell, my own son, Cool is allergic to 4700 different things according to the immunologist, maybe even peanuts. He’d have to eat one for us to figure it out, but he hates anything peanut related and won’t let it touch his tongue, even peanut butter M&Ms or Reece’s Pieces.
It isn’t just in our minds that more people have these allergies than ever before either. It’s real!
It’ not only real, but many people are going nuts (pun intended) with all of this allergy bullshit!
Why have so many of us become unable to withstand the likes of peanuts or milk or shellfish where this never seemed to be a big deal before?
I blame the internet.
For all the amazing, great uses of and for the internet (this blog), there are just as many terrible, bad uses. (this blog).
One of the worst things the internet has done is to allow Stupid to persist and multiply.
There was a time when a fat, nasty bastard living in his mother’s basement only wiped the Dorito cheese from his fingertips long enough to masturbate into a sock while drooling onto naked photos of Karen Velez (the internet says she was the playmate of the year in 1985).
If he was lucky, he made the acquaintance of another male dweeb (probably a schoolmate) and they would read comic books and slay trolls with their 18 sided dice until they became exhausted from battle fatigue, ran out of Mr. Pibb or had to go upstairs to help momma rub her feet.
Time spent in the basement on Atari or Commodore 64 was good for society. Many of these people were baseball and apple pie hating antisocial mental cases and were perfectly content to live their lives as such. Perhaps many of them were brilliant in some way, but their inability to associate with another human being who couldn’t tell you what episode Stardate: 42073.1 of Star Trek was (“The Child” sayeth the internet) made them difficult to deal with in real life settings.
Unfortunately though, the proliferation of internet access has emboldened the antisocial basement dweller like never before. Charles Darwin would not doubt be aghast that these people are now able to lure other human beings into procreational relationships with each other without having to possess a single desirable, dominant trait other than the ability to left click a mouse.
In some other life, prior to the internet, if your greatest life accomplishment was reaching an epic level 35 or something in Dungeons and Dragons, you probably had little chance of being seen in public with a woman who wasn’t your mother or possibly your fat but sort of cute faced cousin, Janet.
Certainly fornicating was a pipe dream achievable only for those who were able to score their way into a Comic-con or similarly awesome event where other, like minded mouth breathers of the opposite sex could mingle and discuss their unique fascinations.
But now, lazy, fat, pimply faced turds can pretend that they’re 6’3″ cowboys and lure women into a meeting without ever having to actually be themselves.
While not all women are going to fall for such nonsense, there are enough women out there pretending to be hotter than they are who would at least meet with Dweeby McBasementdweller.
Once these disgusting troglodytes meet with each other and realize that they’ll never do any better, then you’re invariably going to get two sets of fucked up recessive genes combining to make an even more fucked up offspring, and it goes on and on thereafter!
You know, somebody allergic to everything?
It’s simple science people! Just ask somebody smarter than me.