I grew up around the census. My mom started working for them on and off when I was three, which was a lot of years ago. And therefore, I think it is perfectly logical to blame the federal government for my unnatural obsession with Lunchables.
See, when I was three, my mom’s census office was in our dining room, which made for a super easy commute for her, but there were a few drawbacks. Like a three-year-old who just wanted to be loved and didn’t care that the American people needed to be counted to ensure important things like proper representation of districts in government. I just wanted to be loved and fed all the time.
My mother’s secretary at least provided the food. And not just any food. Lunchables, which to a three-year-old is just about the best thing on God’s green earth.
Little tiny sandwiches of meat, cheese and crackers easy enough to put together all by yourself. In small enough portions that you can eat the whole thing and with a juice box to boot.
I was in heaven.
But I couldn’t be bought with just a Lunchable. Sure, I would happily eat it, but I wanted to be near the great barer of Lunchables. So I would sit under the dining room table at the secretary’s feet, munching my Lunchable as the American people were counted. Important governmental things were happening. Things that ensure our rights as American citizens, and I was there, munching on overly processed meat and cheese. I was a part of democracy in action. It was a three-year-old’s dream come true.
And now whenever I feel overwhelmed, I have the urge to crawl under a table and eat a little Lunchable. Maybe with a Reese’s, maybe with skittles. Either way, it takes me back to an earlier time. When life was simple and my silence could be bought with a juice box.