My Bunker Hill

I wish the answer fairy would arrive. I'd love to know what makes us pick the hills we decide to make our stand on. My nemesis, my great white whale, my Bunker Hill is the lunch box.

Now this should be a non issue. I know. In the grand scheme of things; twenty, thirty years from now the lunch box battle will be just a flea speck of memory, if at all.

But for some reason this where I have decided to make my stand. The lunch box comes home from school and promptly goes into the closet. Yes, that was written correctly. It comes home Monday through Friday and promptly goes into the front coat closet. Loaded with partially empty Tupperware, assorted detritus, and a melange of other items.

Come morning, I make my opening salvo. "Where is your lunch box?" The first battery returns fire, "I'll go get it." I maneuver into the next position, "Is that where it belongs?" Strategic reassessment and field repositioning, "What can I take for lunch?" Countered positioning, "What's in the fridge?" with and second round, "You better hurry you only have 15 minutes."

That equates to a step backward, for the next battery fires from down field, "I have all my homework done." I wheel the cannons right and return fire, "Great, finish packing and get your stuff into the car." The light charge enters the field, "Done. I'll go put this in the car."

In this moment I know I have been outmaneuvered again, but I have not yet conceded the field, yesterdays tupperware is piled in the sink where it will stay until the evening foray.

Come evening, I make a final swing left, "Clean up the tupperware. Where is your lunch box?" Heavy artillery, booms across the field. "I'm not done with my homework, and I have to take a shower tonight." I return fire, "Okay, get it done and get this tupperware cleaned up." Bam! The final round slams home without so much as a warning. The tupperware is rinsed and into the dishwasher, the shower is started and runs and runs and runs...

It isn't until the next dawn that it hits me. Yet again, the lunch box has become a petri dish and I am left standing on my hill. Yet again.

But today the cavalry arrived, only time will determine the outcome. The cavalry consisted of a few hundred small black ants. Busily cleaning up on Friday's lunch box all weekend.

War has it's gross factor. But when you're hunting that great white whale, you thank the stars, wait for the bus and then spray the Black Flag.