It looks pretty big.
From a distance, anyway. A good-sized package - appears hot and steamy - should satisfy. It's supposed to be enough. That's what all the magazine articles say.
You draw closer - peering, tentatively touching it. Feels solid. However, after pulling off the covers, you're not sure it will do. There's really not much here. You can tell this whole thing will be over in two or three minutes.
But it's all you have. So you get it ready, warm it up. You close your eyes . . . open your mouth . . . place it on your tongue and then . . .
Having a Lean Cuisine for lunch again today? Please. Try and contain your excitement.
Join the club. Around noon each day, all across the U.S., we - the working stiffs - stagger out of our cubicles and line up at the microwave with our sad little meals.
Bad day at work? Your lunch can ruin it completely!
Still, I can't help thinking that I get duped every time I bring in one of these things. I mean, this packaging:
Oh, Lean Cuisine, you minx. How you taunt with your sexy box. Your 'Mezzaluna Mushroom' from the 'Culinary Collection.' Like gott-dang 'Fine Dining!'
The impressive advertising fools me every time, I admit it. And I've tried most: Budget Gourmet, Weight Watchers 'Smart Ones,' Healthy Choice. They're all the same, though they go by many names. The husband calls them 'European Portions.' My college/bloggy friend Robin dubbed them 'Starvation in a box.' I call them Budget Barf:
|Lunch: This too shall suck|
For a toddler.
Sure as hell isn't enough for me. I am a 5'2," small-framed female, but my mouth did not receive this memo, because I have an
You wouldn't like me when I'm fungry.
And let me tell you something else. Just like Joey "How YOU doin'?" Tribbiani on Friends, I. Don't. Share. Ever.
Neither does Dawn, Joey. Neither does Dawn.
Anyone attempting to split my grub will draw back a bloody hand. With a protruding knife. Yes, I will cut a bitch who wants 'a bite.'
I know, I know. I shouldn't stab people or eat that way, I should eat like the French do. French women eat small portions. French women savor their food. French women are thin and gorgeous. Blah, blah, blah - whatever.
French women suck.
I am an American girl of German lineage, raised near Youngstown around a bunch of Italians. I need some portions, yo. Some potatoes. A big plate of pasta. Or - better still - pasta made OF potatoes. Carbs with a side of carbs. Ladies and gents, I present to you, gnocchi:
*Image credit: Wikipedia
Gnocchi. (Italian for "bring on the insulin.")
So join me in my cubicle for lunch, but remember - bring your own pasta/potatoes, because Dawn and Joey don't share. We'll have gnocchi! We'll have a nap! We'll have a diabetic coma!
And those sexy packages? The Budget Barf? The European Portions? Dead to us.
That's right, Lean Cuisine. Don't tease us if you ain't gonna please us.
Yeah. Shit just got real.