If you are lucky enough to have middle-aged kids, you may have noticed some things.
First, they survived your attempts at parenting. I say this as a former winner of the Homer J. Simpson Foundation’s “Father Knows Least” Award.
Next, they still need advice, but don’t want it from you. They may occasionally need money, and do want it from you.
Possibly they don’t like to cook, but they do like to eat. Every couple weeks you make a meatloaf for them or some jambalaya or a boatload of fajita fixings. Nothing regular, nothing planned very well, just a little sumpin sumpin they can have before they have to jump in the car and take their kids to soccer practice or baseball practice or gymnastics or basketball.
Here’s what I’ve noticed about that: You never get the containers back.
Oh, you get containers. If you text your daughter every week in all caps and say PUT CONTAINERS IN YOUR CAR NOW. Here’s what you get:
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Any Salvation Army Thrift Store clerk would be proud to shelve these babies in the 25 Cents section. On the other hand, the shelves in my fridge have rectangular boxes like
They are knockoffs of the Cambro boxes you see in a professional kitchen, but (a big but) the lids actually fit. I get them at The Restaurant Store. They are cheap, which is good because it’s not looking like I’m getting any back from my kid any time soon.